Exile
by civilwarrose
Summary: Agathe decides to take a chance and bring the fallen Gaston back to life. Gaston wishes she hadn't. Is there a fate worse than death for the former village hero?
1. Revived

**'Exile'**

 **Beauty and the Beast 2017**

 **Disney owns Beauty and the Beast and its characters.**

Chapter 1 - Revived

…

He woke up from what seemed like a faraway, bizarre nightmare. _Non,_ not a nightmare- a victory! It _was_ a victory- wasn't it?

He had shot it. He had killed it. A Beast, a monster who could climb and leap over rooftops, agile despite his great size and strength. A perfect match for someone as heroic as he, Gaston.

Yet his voice- fully human- issued from the animal like a constant echo in his mind's ear. _I am not a Beast!_ Was he a man inside, or always a creature? It didn't matter, because Gaston had aimed and fired, and the bullet had found its mark. Gaston had seen the beast fall. He had won. Now, to find Belle. She would soon get over such an insane episode of bewitchment. He would take her home, help her come to her senses. Make her his wife.

As Gaston tried to orient himself in his present surroundings, he saw that he was lying atop a pile of uncomfortable rocks and boulders. It was wet, cool, and above him he could see high stone walls on all sides, a window of bright sky hundreds of feet above.

He recalled terror. Fear. Rocks crumbling beneath him and his body tumbling into an abyss, unable to find his footing on solid ground. Before he knew it, his body had collided with something hard and cold, the searing pain of his bones shattered to bits, his neck breaking, and blackness.

But it seemed so long ago. Did this happen, or was this all merely a dream of war, another version of a dream that he had been reliving for twelve years now? No- this did happen. He had entered into a battle, the battlefield the rooftops of a castle.

His body felt tingly, refreshed, as if he had just been immersed in a hot bath. Something very warm was pressed upon his head.

"Gaston, listen to me." The warmth was a small hand. The voice was that of a woman. Her face came into his view- a comely lady with a pale complexion.

"Rise up, Monsieur, and listen to what I have to say. It is urgent," she said.

"What is going on...Belle? Where is Belle?"

"Rise up, Gaston, and I will tell you where Belle is."

Gaston sat up, trying to find a comfortable and non-awkward position upon the jagged, sharp pile of rocks. The woman was sitting beside him. There was something familiar about her eyes, but he was certain he had never seen her before in his life.

"Who are you?"

"I am Agathe. You may remember me as the town beggar."

He narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. "But she was a ragged old _hag_! You look, well-" He gestured to her face and form with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow. " _Decent_."

"I have the magical ability to change my appearance. And the appearances of others, to tell you the truth. I am the one responsible for all of the, as you called it, sorcery."

He scowled at her. "Then you deserve to die! Sorcery is evil, and vile, and I will have to arrange for you to be burned to the stake!" he spat at her angrily. "Were _you_ the one who made Belle fight on the side of that monstrous animal, then?"

"I brought you back to life, Gaston. You were dead," she said serenely.

"Dead?" he scoffed.

" _Oui,_ Monsieur."

"But I don't _remember_ being dead! I remember shooting the beast with my gun! And-" Gaston's words failed him, as he remembered the terror and crushing pain he'd just experienced. It could not have been real.

" _Falling,_ " Agathe finished for him.

"Falling? Yes...it was a _vague_ memory. I think it was just a dream." He looked away from her, shrugging his shoulders as if the horror and pain of that fall from the tower were nothing.

"Monsieur Gaston Legume, you were dead for seven minutes. I came upon your lifeless body."

"And I suppose you're about to say you used _magic_ to bring me back to life?"

" _Oui_. Just as I did exactly twenty minutes ago, to bring His Highness back to life. Up there," she said, pointing to the high turrets of the castle above them.

"His Highness? Who are you talking about? There is no royalty here! There hasn't been a...a-"

Gaston's voice trailed off again. In his mind, there suddenly appeared a store of memories from his youth, long forgotten. There _had_ been a young aristocrat, and his father who had died during the long-ago war with England. The Prince had been just a boy, slightly younger than Gaston.

Adam. His name had been Adam. Gaston had met him. The Prince had welcomed him and his men from the war, and presented him with medals. He'd even been in the castle before, when it had been filled with light, frivolity, and dancing. Gaston had been a bit envious of the spoiled Prince's lavish parties and how he taxed the village to pay for them. Why hadn't he remembered all this over the past ten years?

"Prince Adam...yes, I remember him now. Where has he been all this time?"

"He was here in his castle all along, as the Beast. You killed him less than an hour ago."

" _What_?" Gaston spat in disbelief. "You need to stop telling me these ridiculous lies, woman! I am not an assassin of a Prince! I slaughtered an unsightly animal that had Belle in his clutches! I am going to _report_ you and have you sent to the asylum! Or _worse_!"

He stood to his feet, feeling a bit drunk and wobbly, but gained his bearings and started to hop down the pile of boulders to the moist, muddy ground of an old courtyard. He was determined to find his friends and allies and get help putting this crazy woman where she belonged.

"Why is it getting so _warm_ now?" Gaston complained to himself, noting the warming sun and light of daytime. He spotted an arched stone doorway, which he assumed must lead to the interior of the vast castle.

"The endless winter is over," Agathe said, gracefully walking off the pile of rocks and debris.

Gaston turned around and pointed his finger at her in accusation. "I've _had_ it with you. You are going back with me to Villeneuve and getting your just rewards!" He reached out to roughly grab her arm.

"No, you will not. You will listen to me!" She pointed the finger of her free hand, mumbled a strange word, and caused a painful shock like lightning to surge through Gaston's arm. He yelled in pain, letting her go.

"What was _that_?"

"It was my power. My sorcery. Without it, you would still be dead and broken, bleeding on those rocks! Did you not see your own blood, Gaston?"

She pointed to the pile of boulders where he had lain. Gaston looked to see the topmost rocks stained with scarlet. The blood was not even dry yet; it glistened in the growing sun.

"What the _hell_?"

"I healed all of your wounds, and restored your life, but I wanted you to see this as proof," Agathe reminded him. She stretched out a hand to the rock pile, and all the gruesome blood stains vanished. "There. There is now no evidence of your death. Come, you must leave with me."

He gave her a bewildered look as she gently put her hand on his shoulder. Bright, golden light flashed before Gaston's eyes and he and Agathe found themselves traveling, flying through the air, the sensation much like the fall he had experienced earlier.

He and Agathe reappeared in the middle of a dense forest. Gaston stumbled, disoriented.

"Where are we?"

"Still in the forest, but far from the castle and the village. I was able to restore the Mirror."

"That Mirror? Was that the one which Belle-"

"Yes. I will now show you what you just refused to believe. The Beast-Prince Adam-now lives. His curse has broken, and he is with Belle now."

She held out the mirror to Gaston for him to look. The boy Prince, whom Gaston had remembered from the time after the war, had grown older now. He was holding Belle in his arms and she was beaming at him with pure love. The two were surrounded by a group of joyful, ecstatic people. Jean the potter was embracing a woman and a small boy. A wigged man in a gold coat had his arm around a lovely girl in a dress adorned with feathers.

Gaston watched Adam pull Belle close in his arms and kiss her. Belle's delicate fingers ran through the man's fair hair in a show of clear passion. Rage rose in Gaston's chest as he realized that he had never seen her express evidence of love or admiration towards _any_ other man before. But now, it was _him_ she wanted! That Beast was _him_!

' _I am not a Beast_ ,' he had said.

Of course. Belle didn't want any man from the village. She wanted a royal suitor! One with a _title_! Damn her!

"How?" he raged. "Belle never even knew him!"

"She met him only a few weeks ago, Gaston. She fell in love with him-true love-even though he was trapped in the body of the enormous Beast. And his curse has just been broken."

"Maurice," Gaston said, his eyes darting from Agathe to the thick growth of trees surrounding them. "Maurice- Belle's father. He said that the Beast held her prisoner. How could she fall in love with him? It's insane. _You're_ insane!"

"Belle and the cursed Prince Adam found hope and acceptance with each other. It had nothing to do with Adam's title or riches. Adam loved her for more than her beauty. She fell for him for a reason you may not understand. They were kindred souls."

"I'm going back to Villeneuve!" Gaston exclaimed, striding on quick steps along the bushes and brambles of the forest floor.

"Do you know the direction?" Agathe pressed, following him. She whispered an incantation, and Gaston bumped into an invisible barrier. He pounded his palms at the air in front of him, no longer able to walk further.

"What are you doing to me?" he screamed. "Is this my personal hell? Am I truly dead?"

"No," assured Agathe. "Although you may likely die again soon, if you choose to. If you go to Villeneuve, no one will be singing your praises anymore. You are no longer a hero. You will be facing justice."

"That's ridiculous, woman!" Gaston yelled.

She held out the Mirror again. "Just as the Mirror showed you the Beast was real, I am going to let you hear what people are saying for yourself. These are very recent events at the castle."

Gaston snatched the Mirror away from her. It glowed a bright blue, and produced an image of the castle's front lawn on a sunny morning. He saw people standing outside the castle- his fellow townspeople. He heard their familiar voices.

"I can't believe I was dragged into this! I could have killed my own wife and child! A breakable teapot and teacup!" Jean the potter exclaimed, as he embraced his wife Beatrice once more. Little Chip was running about the rose bushes out of earshot. "Gaston Legume should be disgraced!" Jean told his friend Pierre, standing near him.

"How could we have been so blind to not see it coming?" Stephan Bordeaux, the tavern keeper, was saying to Maurice. "I am so sorry that we believed him over you. He tried to kill you, and lied to cover it up! And to think that man's portraits are in my establishment. I need to have them taken down! If that monster Gaston Legume is still around, he'll be tracked down and imprisoned. And hanged, for regicide against the Prince!"

The scene in the mirror changed again, This time, Gaston saw Lefou, still in his blue coat, his hair disheveled. He appeared exhausted, a hurt look in his eyes. He was in the front gardens of the castle, standing away from the groups of celebrating families.

"Where is Gaston, anyway? Do you know?" a fellow townsman, named Jehan, asked Lefou as he approached him.

"I have _no idea_!" Lefou replied in a bitter tone that made Jehan's eyebrows raise a bit in surprise. "I'm no longer his...representative, to tell you the truth. And if he tries to speak to me again, I will tell him 'Le Duo' is over! I don't know if I can call him 'friend' ever again, Jehan. He used and betrayed me."

At this, Gaston's brow furrowed. He glanced up from the mirror at Agathe. "There _has_ to be some mistake. I mean, this man could _never_ leave my side! He's my closest-"

"Most loyal compatriot," the enchantress finished for him.

Gaston looked again at his former friend. His demeanor was hardened, disillusioned. He'd hardly ever seen such a look on the man's face before, except perhaps back when Lefou was feeling the effects of a gruesome battle in the war long ago. The naive young soldier had never wanted to believe that humans could be so brutal to each other.

Yet now, the one who'd hardened and disillusioned Lefou was _he himself_. Gaston. The one whom Lefou lived for, always at his side for over twenty years!

"He doesn't know you have fallen and died yet, but Belle is about to tell him," said Agathe. "He may look for your body in the courtyard once he finds out. But I would rather that gruesome scene not happen."

"Is _that_ why you brought me back to life?"

"No, that is not the reason. The reason is twofold. Justice- for you to face your consequences and see what people now think of you. And perhaps...I may be able to-" Agathe stopped to look at the Mirror. "Wait. Look."

Gaston's attention turned back to the Mirror. Now, he could see that Lefou had reached the courtyard where he had landed after the deadly plunge. He had been digging, moving boulders, looking to recover his friend. A young acquaintance of Gaston's, Stanley, had arrived on the scene and appeared to be comforting him.

"He would have found me broken and dead," Gaston mumbled as he watched the scene. "It would have been _better_ that way. He would have mourned me still…"

"Listen to what he is saying, Gaston," Agathe admonished. Lefou's agitated voice rang clear from the Mirror.

 _"But, Stanley! There's all this magic happening! With all of the haunted objects...they were all people! So...the Prince was the Beast! He'd been shot by Gaston, but the magic brought him back to life! So...maybe it brought Gaston back to life, too!"_

"It did! She did!" Gaston yelled into the Mirror in frustration.

 _"Lefou...but, you see,"_ Stanley's voice issued from the Mirror now. The 'quiet one' of the tavern trio, whom Gaston never paid much attention to. " _The Prince was brought back to life because Belle told him she loved him. It was all part of his enchantment. Gaston wasn't part of this like they are, you see? He only came here to kill, and he brought his own fate upon him."_

Gaston scowled at those words of accusation. He mouthed a quiet 'shut up' to what he heard Stanley saying, but those words still cut him to the core. They stung so very harshly.

He saw the look on Lefou's face. His usually happy-go-lucky friend was in tears, but the tears were of anger and bitterness in addition to grief.

 _"I know. But...the last thing I wanted to tell him was that our...our friendship was over. No more 'Le Duo.' That I'm 'Le Single' now. But I never even got to tell him that! I wish...I wish I could turn back time and try harder! Try to make Gaston control his temper...help him to be better somehow. I wish-"_

Gaston could not believe what he was hearing. Lefou? Their friendship...over? Over because of an accident with a stupid harpsichord?

Yet, Gaston also remembered the way he'd ignored and silenced all of Lefou's attempts to reason with him over the past week or two. Lefou had truly tried to stop him from making a terrible mistake, but Gaston had paid no heed. He had been _so_ focused on Belle- getting Belle as his prized wife, leading his men to a heroic battle. This was all he had thought of, and his actions had pushed his loyal friend away. He had manipulated Lefou, threatened him, and left him in peril. For his old friend, it had been-finally-too much.

Gaston had now lost the only person who had cared for him, ever since childhood. He tried to shove that painful thought away as he listened to the voice of the annoying Stanley, trying to think he was wise...

 _"Lefou! Stop it! You were never meant to change Gaston! It was HIS jealousy and madness that killed him! You couldn't change this no matter how hard you tried!"_

 _"But...he depended on me to..."_ The man dissolved into tears while Stanley comforted him.

Gaston scowled in discomfort at the sight of the two men. No one but _Gaston_ ever showed much affection for Lefou, who secretly suffered from a...a _nature_ that Gaston had tried to ignore for years. Lefou was about to make a fool of himself without Gaston there to protect him! He would end up in the Maison des Lunes soon enough. That would be _so_ much worse for him than the minor slight of being left under a harpsichord! Gaston had had no time to help him. He should have realized that!

"I have to let Lefou know I'm still alive. Look! He grieves my death!" Gaston said to Agathe in desperation, gesturing at the Mirror.

Agathe shook her head. "No. You must realize that If he sees you alive, things will never be the same between you. You betrayed him. And more so, you attempted to kill the Prince of this region. The one sole person who still grieves you this day, your friend Lefou, cannot save you from the consequences. If you go back, and the villagers or the Prince's people find you, you will be sent to rot in prison for life, or hung from a gallows. What you have just seen has proven it."

Gaston's eyes widened. They seemed to light up in fiery rage. " _Why_ did you bring me to life if I'm only to be executed like a common _criminal_?" he hissed angrily.

He handed her the Mirror back, almost dropping it.

"Because that is, in fact, what you deserve," said Agathe, her voice still calm but firm. "Your fall from the bridge was a forgiving death. By dying in that way, you escaped seeing the wrath of the village, your former friends. You _will_ be forever be remembered as a monster, not as a hero."

"How can that be possible?" Gaston cried, in an indignant tone. "I was Captain of my regiment! I drove a band of Portuguese troops out of this region! I won _battle_ after _battle_ against the Prussians in the east! I was given the highest medals of honor! _Everyone_ admired me. Surely that counts for something-" His voice cracked as he looked at Agathe with pleading eyes. "Doesn't it?"

"That will be forgotten in the light of what happened last night," she replied with a grim tone.

Gaston sighed and looked off into the distance, picturing what he'd always dreamed of for his end on this earth.

"I always imagined a grand funeral of honor- with my beautiful wife taking the flag in her arms. The flag drenched in her tears, and the tears of my many children. Sons...handsome sons, of course…"

Agathe's words quickly jolted Gaston back into reality. "Perhaps the village priest will have a service at the church in your memory, but it will be bittersweet for all. Very quiet and subdued. I doubt many will attend."

Pain and despair began to twist Gaston's features. His dreams and hopes for himself were being dashed- one by one.

Belle- in love with Prince Adam, even under a Beast spell. She saved his life after Gaston had attempted to slaughter him like an animal. Lefou- no longer his friend. Gaston himself- he would die a death of disgrace, with no one lovingly mourning him. No wife, no sons, no legacy.

Although he wanted to rage at Agathe, the woman was merely a vessel of his own inner conscience, a conscience he never knew he had.

As a boy of thirteen, Gaston may have still had some tiny remnant of a moral compass, a desire to do good. After his father died, however, it had slipped away, overshadowed by his narcissism of self and a lifetime of wanting to prove that he was a great man, akin to a god.

He _needed_ to be great. His father had called Gaston a 'piece of dirt' before he had left on a hunting trip which killed him. And those words forced Gaston to grow up early and fight for all he had-himself.

Could all that he had fought for be- as Agathe had said- _forgotten_? The idea was horrifying, soul-crushing. Gaston continued to pace back and forth in the wooded clearing, like one of his many creatures of prey.

"Is there a chance I could gain my good name as a hero...ever again?" Gaston finally asked in desperation.

"No. Your reputation is completely tarnished. Although- since Prince Adam is now a kind and caring man thanks to Belle's love- he _may_ forgive you. He may not have you executed or imprisoned. There is still a chance for that."

Gaston's mouth opened to argue, but then he closed it, a sense of defeat coming over him. The Mirror did not lie.

He stopped pacing and gazed upward at the canopy of treetops, blinking his eyes once or twice. Like a beast of prey, he wished for a bullet.

"What are you thinking about, Monsieur?" Agathe asked him, in a quiet, almost caring tone.

"It was all for _nothing._ Everything I ever did…for the safety of the village. For my _country,_ " A look of grief came over his face, a piteous grief only for himself.

"It was twelve years ago. But the choices you made recently cancel out all your former glory."

He looked her in the eyes, seeing her somber expression. He shook his head, putting his hands over his temples as if the words she spoke were like hammers- pounding into his brain, penetrating his psyche where he could not defend himself from their harsh judgment.

"If you brought me back to life...then, you can undo it and kill me again. Right?" he said in a very small, pleading voice.

"Is that what you choose?" Agathe asked him sadly.

"I choose death," he whispered.

Agathe sighed in resignation. "I can undo my reviving spell with a...a killing curse this very moment, then. Where do you want your body to lie? If the men of the village recover your body, you will likely be buried in the churchyard behind the chapel. Perhaps Lefou will have it in his heart to put a rose over your stone."

Gaston heaved a long sigh. "Here. Just let me die here, in the woods. Alone and in peace. And let it be...so that my body will never be found. Please...I ask that you bring on the wolves...let it be fed to the creatures, so there will be no recovery. Please grant me the dignity of my wish."

"You are ready, then?"

"Yes," he said, clenching his jaw, a look of true pain and despair in his eyes.

"Would you like to lie down? The killing spell should be humane. But I have to tell you, Gaston, I feel terrible about this. I have never done this before. Only dark, evil sorcerers have performed this curse. So I cannot guarantee it will be painless."

"No more talk." Gaston knelt to the cool, moist ground and lay down on his back, looking up at her for a moment before gazing up at the sky overhead. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

"Just _kill_ me," he begged, his hands clenching and grasping blades of grass.

Agathe took a deep breath, sorrow coming over her features. She had made the wrong choice to try to revive this mortal. She had considered him as another 'project' over the course of her last few months in Villeneuve. While orchestrating and helping lead Belle to Prince Adam, she had inadvertently discovered Gaston Legume, another man in dire need of a curse of correction.

But he was a worse case than Prince Adam ever was. This man was utterly, completely unredeemable. And now, she was being forced to perform this horrible spell to redact her mistake.

She put out her hand, but soon drew it back and spoke again in a last-minute consideration.

"I wanted to say, while you are still breathing the air on this good earth, that I _can_ give you a chance for a new life through a spell. A curse. A life where you would have no glory, no one knowing of your war heroics. You could begin again in a new place all alone. No one would know of you, and-"

"I don't want to hear about curses," Gaston stopped her. "That's enough talk. I don't want to be a nobody. That would be worse than death. Just...do _away_ with me," he begged, his voice hoarse and breaking.

Agathe sadly outstretched her hands to Gaston's supine form. Her own father's face came to her mind. "Papa, please forgive me. I never wanted to perform this curse. It's too dark...but now I must. I have no choice," she whispered.

She began to say the initial words of the incantation.

Gaston's eyes opened in shock as he felt a sudden crushing on his heart, as if it were being forced to stop. A look of terror crossed his features.

"NO!" he screamed. " _Please_! Don't. I...I'll do anything! Just...please."

Agathe drew back her hand, her incantation fell silent on her lips. Her own heart sang with relief as the man coughed and gasped, his chest rising as he drew in another breath of air. He met her gaze with a look of pure repentance.

"I'll do it...I'll do as you said."

...

 _A.N.- Hello! I'm back with the promised sequel to 'There's No Question.' I was inspired to continue this story idea of my own when I read a news story that the makers of the live action BatB had actually considered having Gaston not die from the fall and be cursed by the Enchantress instead. Of course, they went with the animated movie's classic ending, and I feel that worked much better for the movie. And that leaves us fanfic enthusiasts free to write our own alternatives! :)_


	2. Aunt Agathe

Chapter 2- Aunt Agathe

…

Agathe watched as Gaston stood and brushed the wet grass off his knees. "I am glad you changed your mind, Gaston. You don't know how relieved I am, not being made to perform that terrible curse on you."

He gave her a sour look, though still shaken from the terror of the moments before. "You pretend you don't enjoy your witchcraft. But I think you secretly _do,"_ he said breathlessly.

"I never asked to be born magical, Gaston. I'm from a magical family. It is an inherited trait, just like your eye color is a trait."

"If you're born with it, that doesn't mean you need to _perform_ sorcery," Gaston argued.

"We Enchanteds have no choice. We need to use our powers, lest the magic festers inside of us and causes us to destroy ourselves and others," Agathe began to explain. When she saw Gaston rolling his eyes, she stopped. He was a Mortal, a _Sans-Magie_. She ought not to share such things with him. Her father had told her the dangers of revealing secrets of their world.

"Whatever," said Gaston uneasily. "Now how are you planning to _give_ me this new existence as someone else?"

"I have some ideas for what we can do, but the bad news is that I don't have a well-thought-out plan for you yet. The good news is that before I cast the curse, you can give me some input. You can tell me where you would like to go."

Gaston gave a long sigh like a deflating balloon. "I have no idea. Villeneuve was always my _home_. There's nowhere else I can see myself. I suppose I have no choice. Go ahead, then - pick a place." He smirked at her, giving her a lazy gesture with his hand. "You're my commanding general, Agathe. Send me on my next mission," he added with a bit of sarcasm.

Agathe ignored Gaston's flippant air, as she was in the process of conjuring up a map of France. She unfurled it, focusing in on their current location. After finding 'Villeneuve' in tiny print, she scanned the map for the nearest city.

"What about Colmar?" she suggested.

"No. I've been to Colmar a few times. I may be remembered there, considering that I have a face that isn't easily forgotten."

"All right, what about...Strasbourg? Farther north?"

"Strasbourg? That was where I _fought_ for six months! Although I'd love to revisit my old battlefields." He closed his eyes, relishing a memory. "But no...there may be a child or two I may have fathered years ago, and some women of course, and old comrades...best I stay far, far away from Strasbourg, if you know what I mean." He grinned.

Agathe nodded, her face humorless. "Paris, then? Paris is a big city, and full of people much more important than _you_ ever were."

"I have the feeling you don't like me very much," said Gaston, feigning hurt.

"Oh, I like you, Gaston. At least I'm _beginning_ to. You're growing on me, rather like a colony of streptococcus bacteria."

"A colony of _what_?"

"Never mind. Only people of a future century would know of those. So, what about Paris, Monsieur Gaston? Are you willing to go there? Have you ever been there?"

"To be honest, no. I haven't had the pleasure of visiting great, gay _Paree_." He grinned at her again.

"Good. We will not be homeless there, because I have a small apartment where my magical father once lived whenever he needed to stay amongst the _Sans-Magie_. That's people like you, who aren't magical. Now, before we travel there magically, I am going to have to do something to you...that you will not like. But since you decided to live, you must agree to it."

"You're going to transform _me_ into a hideous Beast?" Gaston asked, alarmed.

"No. Being a Beast in Paris would draw attention to you. For you, I'd rather do the opposite. I'm going to erase your life memories."

"Erase my _memories_?" he exclaimed, horrified.

"Oui. All memories of your life as Gaston Legume will be gone. You will be given a new identity. I will tell people you are my nephew. I'll call you...'Luc.' Since that is your middle name."

"You- you can't. I said I'd do anything, b-but I can't go along with _this_!" He was trembling, and ashamed to be showing fear in front of a mere woman. He turned his back to her. "Is death still an option?"

"I don't want to kill you. I can't bring myself to do it. I'm not an executioner, Gaston. Besides, I've started to feel for you. You have a soul somewhere beneath that cold, hard fortress of ego and vanity, and I'm an enchantress who likes a challenge. Not to mention that bringing a _Sans-Magie_ back to life only to kill him again is considered vile to Magical ethics."

"I don't _care_ about your ethics...if I can't be _me_ , Gaston the war hero...then who _can_ I be?" He wrapped his strong arms around himself, shaking as if it were freezing cold in the forest.

"You'll have a chance to forget about Belle, and forget about that terrible fall. You'll have new adventures. New things to conquer, and a whole city full of people to follow your lead!"

He turned around to look at her. "New things to conquer?" he asked with wide eyes.

" _Oui._ Big cities are always in need of strong leaders to fight injustices."

"But you said you'd erase my mind! Will...will I still remember how to walk and talk, or will I have an infantile mind, where I've forgotten even _those_ things?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"You will still walk and talk. I will be able to replace your old memories with some fake ones. Your name will be...Luc Avenant. It's the surname of one of my relatives. You will have grown up in Paris, and your parents were - let's see - Parisian shopkeepers who died in the great plague when you were a child. I will be your Aunt Agathe, and I've raised you since age nine."

His shoulders relaxed a bit. "You don't look old enough to be my aunt at the moment."

"I will take on my former appearance. The one you're used to. But even older, more haggard. Although I won't be a beggar this time."

"I'd rather you look as you do now. You look _much_ more pleasant," He gave her a flirtatious smile as he looked her up and down in appreciation. "Do you _have_ to be my aunt? I'm a lonely bachelor, after all. I'd be happy to have you on my arm, strolling together through the streets of the City of Light."

"Gaston, that is _not_ my plan-"

"Picture this, Agathe!" Gaston interrupted. His fear faded into an excited enthusiasm. "With your powers and my strength, together we can depose the King and Queen and put _ourselves_ on the Throne of France-"

Agathe shook her head in irritation. She suddenly waved her hand in front of her own face, and in an instant, her lovely, youthful appearance faded into that of the plain beggar woman, looking even older by a decade or so. Her long blonde hair turned silver mixed with brown, tucked into a bonnet. Her pale green silk dress turned to careworn rags.

Gaston gasped at the transformation. "What did you do _that_ for?"

"I'm the one making the plans, not you, Gaston. I'm you 'Aunt Agathe' now. And we are not going to depose the King and Queen of France. Magicals never meddle with _Sans_ - _Magies_ ' governments!" she admonished.

Gaston sighed. "I wish you could. Is there a chance you could...make me smarter, then? Maybe...a better reader and writer than I was in my old life?"

"I thought you were considered good at everything," said Agathe. "I never realized you had weaknesses or insecurities. Were you ever called 'unintelligent' in the past?" With this question, Agathe noticed a shadow of anger and hurt flash across Gaston's eyes, before they hardened again.

"Gaston, if you feel as if you were treated unfairly by people in your past, you can tell me. I _won't_ judge you," she said softly.

"My past is none of your business," said Gaston.

"If you want me to help give you a better future and regain your good name, I need to _know_ you a little better. A deeper feel of who you really are. What you've shown me of yourself has been...quite unpleasant so far. From the day you spilled the coins out of my cup, to the constant insults and name-calling, to your stubborn attitude even now, wanting to take over my lead. Can you tell me more about your life, or do I have to look into your early memories by magic?"

She lifted her hand and stepped closer to him, preparing to perform the mind-reading charm she'd mastered back in her old magical school days. Gaston winced. The last thing he wanted was for this woman to magically peer into his brain, and see him as the pathetic little boy he once was.

"I wasn't stupid!" he spat. "But I couldn't read words on a book page well no matter how much I tried. The headmaster hated me. I was the brunt of ridicule for some of the other boys," he admitted.

"You had trouble interpreting the letters into words, it seems. That _doesn't_ mean you were stupid. The headmaster and the other children were wrong. Your abilities will be the same, though, nothing will change. You will be just as brave and physically strong as always."

"You still think of me as brave?" Gaston asked.

"I do. You fought a war after all. But you fear the unknown, just as everyone does. That isn't cowardly."

"Thank you. Maybe this curse thing won't be that bad a deal after all."

"There will be rules, Gaston. We will be poor, and you will need to find work immediately in Paris, or else you will become homeless and have to live amongst the beggars along the banks of the Seine River. For me, that is an existence I'm fine with, since I've always been able to conjure up tents and huts invisible to _Sans-Magies_. But you give me the impression you don't care for the humble life."

"Well, ' _Aunt Agathe_ ,' you're wrong. I can rough it. I lived in camp tents on the battlefield during the war! I was perfectly fine with it. Cold, wet and hungry most of the time. It was Lefou who always whined about how much he missed Villeneuve and warm beds at home. I was tough!" Gaston insisted.

"That is good to know. But as long as you live with me as your aunt, there will be other rules."

"What rules?"

"One - there will be no drunkenness. As soon as alcohol touches your lips, you will feel your lips burning as if they are on fire. Two - no debauchery. That means no premarital relations with any women! The moment you even _touch_ a young lady in lust, you will suffer a most _unpleasant_ consequence." She looked intently at Gaston and whispered a few strange words, waving her hand towards him. "There. Those spells have been cast upon you already."

"What spells?" Gaston asked, curious to know.

"You will see what happens once you try."

"You sound like my grumpy old headmaster," said Gaston, pouting a little.

The two of them walked through the thick forest. Insects buzzed around them, and Gaston slapped at a mosquito on his face. "I'm anxious to get to Paris. Let's go, shall we?"

"Not yet," said Agathe. "I want to get to know you a little better as you are, before I give you a new identity. So let's wait here in the forest until tomorrow morning. Here...I'll give us some shelter. The way I did when I lived in Villeneuve as a beggar."

She took out her magic wand, waved it in an arc, and conjured up a small tentlike hut all around them. It was divided into two rooms by hanging tapestries, and was furnished with cots, pillows, chairs, and a tiny table set with a teapot, cups, and dishes.

"This is my simple forest home. What do you think?"

"So you weren't homeless after all, Agathe. I suspect you conjured up food?"

"No. That I _couldn't_ do. There's a law in the magic world against it. I truly had to beg for coins to buy food at the markets. Would you like some tea?"

"No thank you, I'm not a tea drinker," said Gaston.

Agathe mumbled a spell to cause water to fill the teapot, A flame erupted beneath the pot while it levitated in mid-air. Gaston watched in curiosity as she brewed tea, poured a cup full, and sat down on a chair with it. "Even powerful enchantresses like me can get tired. Find a place to sit down, instead of standing there looking at me like a fool."

He sat down on a rug on the floor. "How long do we need to camp in this forest before we go to Paris? Are you going to erase my memories yet?"

"There will be _one_ more rule I want to let you know about before I cast the curse and we travel. If you ever return to this area - Villeneuve or the Prince's castle - you stand the chance of being recognized. Of course, you won't understand why. But every curse like this must have - a 'trigger.' Something which will cause the curse to break. There is going to have to be one 'trigger' that will cause your old life's memories to return."

She sipped on her tea for a moment, pondering something. "Hmm...yes. Perfect! I've chosen what the trigger will be."

"What is that?"

"Belle. If you ever see Belle, the woman for whom your mad obsession caused you to attempt murder - the spell will break. You will become Gaston Legume once again, and subject to the punishments that Prince Adam and this community will have for you, since Belle and Adam will recognize you. You're already presumed to be dead - as of today."

"Then let's just stay in Paris, then. I hope Belle never goes there, I never want to see that girl again! She belongs to that _Beast,"_ he said bitterly.

"Belle may or may not travel to Paris. It could be possible, because she was born in Paris and her mother died and was buried there. If she does, I will know. I can figure out what to do if something like that happens. Belle is a kind, merciful person. I also know that Prince Adam doesn't want to go there. He has relatives in Paris that he's estranged from. His uncles and cousins were just as nasty as his late father was."

"No matter then," said Gaston. "I'll stay away from Belle, I'm certain. I won't even remember where Villeneuve or that castle is, will I?"

"True," said Agathe.

They sat quietly for a while, and Gaston watched as the enchantress began to doze off in her chair after she finished her tea. While she was sleeping, Gaston considered the idea of sneaking back to Villeneuve. Just to see the village, one last time. He stood up from the rug on the floor where he'd been sitting and went outside.

The forest was the same as it had been; although the sun was higher over the trees and it was midday. He listened for voices, wondering how far he was from his village or the castle. The castle where Belle was now certainly sharing some romantic moment with the former monster, now Prince Adam. Bitterness and hurt came over him.

Agathe wasn't lying to Gaston about the consequences. It was better that he go away, lose his memories and have a chance to become someone else. But the idea was so hard for him to fathom. He may as well be dead, really.

He was bored. He heard a rustling of branches, and recognized it as wildlife. A deer - a large, sandy-colored doe - wandered nearby, bending her head to eat the foliage and berries. She was followed by a stag with well formed antlers. A twelve-point buck, Gaston observed, since he drew close enough for him to count the tines. But Gaston had no gun or quiver of arrows to kill him. What a waste of an opportunity!

Standing there alone in the forest, with nowhere to go, no weapon to hunt with, and wildlife tempting him, was torture. Agathe was sleeping in the hut, likely exhausted from all her great feats of magic. Gaston began to think about their conversation, the things she'd shared with him. Jealousy rose within him. He wished _he_ had magic powers like her. If he had, maybe he could have brewed a love potion to _force_ Belle to fall down at his boots in adoration! Then she'd be willing to become his wife!

 _So, then!_ he thought. _People like HER get to be born with magic powers, as a 'family trait!' And they get to go wherever they want, and create whatever they wish! And have the power to read minds, and cast spells, and turn others into giant Beasts - even princes! And they can kill simply by saying a few words! Does she realize how USEFUL she could have been in wartime? Where WAS she twelve years ago? She could have done her part for France!_ The more Gaston thought about it, the angrier he became.

A moment later, the stag turned his head and came closer. He looked Gaston straight in the eye.

"What do you want?" Gaston shouted at the animal. "You want to get _shot_?"

The stag and doe approached Gaston, where he stood near a tall red-pine tree. They gazed at him with large, curious eyes.

"Get away from me," he whispered at them, but they ventured closer.

"You want to be friends with _me_? Do you realize who I _am_?" The two deer sat down to rest near him.

Gaston could not have felt more irritated than he was that moment. He was getting hungry as well. The doe's plump flanks made him think of the juicy cuts of venison which lay beneath her fur. The buck's hind legs probably had some delicious stew meat inside of them. He could vividly recall the smell of roast venison with onions, the kind that Lefou liked to make.

He missed Lefou something terrible. It was hard to believe that he'd never get to eat a roast venison dinner in the evening with Lefou, ever again. Or step foot in the tavern to have a beer with the townsmen. Or see his mounts of taxidermy on the walls, and the murals painted in his honor.

Anger, jealousy, bitterness, blood-lust and hunger churned up inside of Gaston. The doe looked at him again with curiosity in her gaze.

 _"Aaaaaagh!"_

With a loud, frustrated growl, Gaston lunged toward the deer. He reached with his hands to grab her around the neck. He could attempt to kill her with his bare hands, if he squeezed and crushed her windpipe in the correct place. The doe pulled away and escaped his hold. She was strong and fast. She and the stag turned and ran, their tails raised and bobbing like two white flags as they disappeared into the shadowy thickets of trees.

"Gaston!" Agathe called, coming out of her hut. "What were you doing?"

He pointed in the animals' direction. "Deer. Two deer. I...I wanted to kill them!" he hissed. "Agathe, you can help. Conjure up a gun for me, will you?"

"No, Gaston."

"Why not?"

"I'd like you to refrain from any killing from now on."

 _"What?"_ he bellowed. "You won't even let me shoot up something for dinner? Aren't you hungry?"

"Perhaps a little, but I can wait. No, Gaston, that's another rule. You are not to kill. Human, animal, anything. I let you get away with that mosquito a while ago, but that's about the limit."

He gave an exasperated groan. "That's ridiculous!"

"Those are my rules. If you'd like to gather some berries or fruit, there are some a few yards away. It's almost midsummer, so the wild plums and blueberries are ripe. That's why the deer are so content and friendly here. I've gotten accustomed to foraging the past few years, whenever I was short on coins."

"You could've gotten a job, you know, _Aunt Agathe_ ," said Gaston, dripping sarcasm.

"I was _doing_ my job."

"Being a wretched beggar and an eyesore to our village?"

"It was my ruse. I needed to stay in Villeneuve and watch over Prince Adam and the servants during the long curse. And I needed to find someone who'd be willing to befriend and help Adam in his...situation. It took years, but I finally discovered Belle. I did a few things to help lead Maurice to the castle, but for the most part, I let fate play out the way it did - with little intervention of my own."

"So you were a matchmaker between Belle and that Beast?"

"In part. I wanted someone to find him, befriend and love him - or he could have remained a Beast forever. And the servant objects would have slowly lost their sentience."

"I _wish_ he would have remained-"

" _Stop_!" Agathe scolded. Her voice seemed to echo, and it scared him, just a bit. "I _don't_ want to hear your bitter talk, Gaston! I'm giving you a chance. Do you want to follow my plan, like you agreed, or do you want to die disgraced? It's entirely up to you!"

He shrugged his shoulders miserably. "Follow your plan...I guess," he said in a small, hoarse voice.

"I'm going to go take a nap inside the hut, Gaston, to replenish my magical energy. You can go forage for some plums and berries if you'd like. Watch for wolves. I caused the wolf pack to move away from the castle's area, so that they would not hurt the servants or villagers as they're traveling back and forth."

Gaston obediently went out and picked handfuls of plums and wild berries. He felt like a punished child, stripped of his power and dignity. It was a mortifying feeling, like he was the lowest of the low. He wanted to die- but then again, no. He was afraid of that. Not so much not existing anymore, but the thought of being reviled and disgraced by all who'd known him.

He needed a new beginning.

...

 _A.N.-Thank you TrudiRose for your beta! I decided to divide the original long chapter into 2 parts. The next chapter will be coming very soon!_


	3. Don't Look Back

Chapter 3- Don't Look Back

...

Gaston found Agathe making tea when he returned to the hut. Bored out of his mind, he decided to ask Agathe about her own family and life before she'd cast a curse on Prince Adam.

"Where did you _come_ from?" he inquired. "Are there more of you? What were your parents' names? Were they witches and warlocks and such?"

Agathe could not reveal much about her origins. A S _ans-Magie_ didn't need to know about their secret society, especially someone as power-hungry and cunning as this man was. She guided the subject of conversation to Gaston's own life instead.

"There's nothing much to say. Tell me about yourself, Gaston. Tell me about your time in the war."

"All right," he said softly.

Crushed and defeated, tortured by Agathe's rules and stern rebukes, he was glad to find that she at _least_ wanted to know something about the respectable side of him. He began to tell her of his battles and adventures. He told her of his victories, the buddies he'd made, the men who'd been lost. He desperately needed to talk about _some_ part of his more honorable past and relive it again. Once his memories were erased, they'd be gone forever.

At least Agathe could hold on to the memories, if he could not. They were precious to him, like a fragile glass heirloom in danger of being destroyed any moment. When he told her about the time he had to clean and bandage Lefou's wounds the day his best friend had been shot, he was shocked to feel his eyes stinging with emotion.

"'Only a flesh wound,' he said! Thank God he hadn't been shot in a vital organ..." Gaston recalled as he blinked his eyes rapidly. Agathe noticed his distress.

"You seem sad. Why is that?"

"He was such a...tough little fellow, Lefou. Almost indestructible. He asked me to pour a bottle of...some alcohol he kept...on his wounds, and I gave him my glove, to bite down on, and then...he only screamed a little, and...he told me to make certain not to waste the bottle! He was so damn _worried_ about..." He stopped speaking and cleared his throat.

"Is this too painful?" she asked.

"I don't want to talk about that anymore!" He swiped a finger at his eye; it was brimming with a salty fluid, which he knew was a sign of pathetic weakness. He was still _Gaston!_ He hadn't cried since he was thirteen years old, after Papa's death. And even then it was for one night only.

 _"_ You miss your friend. It's all right to feel regret," said Agathe. "He'll be fine. He has a good life ahead of him."

Gaston gave her as hard a death glare as he could give her. "Without _me_!" he said angrily.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to comfort the remorseful man as much as she could.

It was odd. During Agathe's days in Villeneuve, while she panhandled and people-watched, it hadn't occurred to her that Gaston saw his companion Lefou as more than a lackey and servant. The stout, sweet-natured man often put coins in Agathe's cup and wished her a good morning. This would usually take place the moment after the _first_ man, swaggering past in his red coat, gave her his usual look of disdain. She had once heard Lefou try to reason with Gaston, when the arrogant captain was angry over the rejection from Belle.

 _'A great hunter NEVER gives up!'_ she'd heard him scoff as he stood in the town square. Then, Agathe had observed Lefou when he walked past her a moment later. She recalled him glancing at her and muttering quietly, ' _I'll gladly switch lives with you, madame!'_

She couldn't help but to smile at the young man's wry joke.

It was touching now, to think that Gaston was more attached to his friend than she'd assumed.

"Thank you for the exciting tales, Gaston." she said. "It sounds as if your village truly depended on you, and held you in high esteem for a long time."

"Yes. They _did_ ," Gaston said in a bitter tone. He stood up and strode to the door.

...

As Gaston stuck his head out of the doorway of the hut, he noticed the sun getting low, and the long shadows of evening falling in the forest. It was the first night that Lefou would have to face without him. Gaston imagined the man must be crushed, now that the fact of his death had sunk in. He was like Gaston's appendage, after all. A severed arm or leg must surely be bleeding out and fading away. Gaston was truly worried.

"You still have that Magic Mirror somewhere here, don't you?" he asked Agathe as he turned back to her.

" _Oui,_ it is right here, on the table." She lifted the mirror and looked into it.

"Can you check on Lefou? See what he's doing this evening?"

"I'm checking right now." She watched the Mirror closely. "He's...hmm...this is interesting. He's in the castle, at a fancy dinner, with all of the servants and staff..."

"Show me!"

"If you insist," said Agathe.

Gaston looked into the Mirror with her. They saw many people gathered at elegant tables and heard Prince Adam making a speech about how he wanted to be forgiven for his beastly behavior. Agathe beamed with joy.

"This is the part of my work that makes me the happiest! Adam is now such a good man - he's changed so from when he was young. Such arrogance and cruelty before - now he's humble and gracious...oh! Look!"

Adam was kissing Belle. Gaston turned away from the Mirror with a sour expression.

"You never even _loved_ Belle," Agathe said quietly. "Why are you angered? It's only because you couldn't capture her as the prize you wanted, isn't it?"

"Love isn't essential for marriage. It never has been. It is merely the icing on the cake," Gaston replied.

"So you _admit_ you didn't love her. You were cruel to her. You locked her up and threatened to kill her father. She was nothing but an object to you."

Gaston narrowed his eyes. "She wasn't just an 'object.' She was a... I only _thought_ she'd be the perfect wife for me," he said petulantly.

"Because she had a lovely face, and because she never foolishly threw herself at you like the other girls did. She was _the sweetest, most elusive prey_."

"I know. It was outrageously attractive to me." He tried to give her another little grin, but she scowled in response.

Agathe shook her head. "You never _knew_ her. You never wanted to know her heart, Gaston." She gazed back into the mirror to watch the celebration dinner in progress. "Now this is interesting...Adam just called Lefou up to accept an honor of some kind."

"Honor? _What_?" He drew close to Agathe again, and peered into the Mirror to look. "He's... getting a _medal_?"

" _Oui_. For saving the life of Madame Potts, the former teapot," Agathe replied.

"At least... he doesn't look that happy. He's still in grief."

Guilt and regret hung heavy in the former army captain's heart. "Good-bye, Lefou," he whispered to the Mirror. "Wish I could tell you I'm not dead, but it's better that you think that's true. Guess you got to be a hero this time. Without me." He looked at Agathe with pleading eyes. "Will he be all right? With me out of his life? Or do you think he'd be better off without me?"

"He mourns you, but he'll be all right in time, Gaston. The poor man is trying to recover from all that happened. Let's give him his privacy. I know you would want that, if _you_ were in his shoes. Now, I'm going to put the Mirror away, and we are going to get some sleep. Tomorrow, we depart."

…

The next morning in the forest, Gaston awoke in the hut before Agathe. He glanced around the tiny kitchen area for a knife, or anything he could use as a weapon to kill an animal, but found nothing but tea spoons.

Famished, he went outside into the wilderness to forage at the plum tree. The dawn was beautiful, the sky pink and lavender with anticipation of sunrise, and it reminded him of all the hunting trips he'd taken in his life. Agathe had forbid killing, but he wondered what she'd do if he tried again. Damn that woman, she was watching him like a hawk. He needed to get away from her, just for a few minutes. He missed Lefou as well. If only he could see his former best friend one more time.

Gaston went back into the hut where he saw Agathe still soundly asleep in a cot, covered with patchwork quilts. She wore a kerchief around her greying hair, snoring softly, looking quite old and plain. Gaston wondered why she didn't want to be young and beautiful-looking anymore. It was ridiculous. Women were only worthwhile if they were beautiful, weren't they? How could her appearance not be important to her?

He remembered the Magic Mirror, and decided to steal it - just for a moment, then he'd give it back. He spotted its handle on the tiny table. She'd tried to hide it under a lace doily next to her hideous tea set. Gaston tiptoed over to the table and gently picked it up, then moved stealthily out the door, now in possession of the Magic Mirror.

"Show me Lefou," he whispered.

The Mirror glowed, and an image formed in real time: a lone figure on a horse, riding through a path in a forest. Gaston recognized him from the floppy brimmed hat he wore, and the way he bounced in the saddle with Ami's prancing steps.

' _Ami.'_ Lefou had named his horse something that was the equivalent of 'friend' or 'buddy.' _He loved that horse_ , Gaston recalled fondly.

Gaston tried to ascertain his own whereabouts. He knew where Lefou was riding - it was surely on the path between the castle and Villeneuve, But Gaston didn't know where _he_ was. He didn't have his compass, and had no clue of his location in this vast forest. If he could hike to a hilltop, he might be able to see the castle's tall turrets. He had to use the position of the sun and his hunter's keen senses to navigate himself. Was he north, south, east or west of the area of the castle?

He gazed about the landscape, noted the position of the rising sun at his left side, and knew he was facing south. The elevated terrain was in the south and west, he remembered. If he went in the direction he faced, he would probably reach a higher point to see the castle's turrets. He ran forward, panting as he hiked uphill on an incline.

After several minutes of hiking, he reached an overlook to another valley ahead. To his delight, he knew where he was! _Le point Majestueux._ Majestic Point, the spot which overlooked the Truite River valley. He spotted the Truite River, which flowed near Villeneuve. To his right, in the high terrain, was the tower of a castle! It was still distant, but he could try his best to run in that direction.

He ran for what seemed like forever. The land, the forest, it was all starting to look familiar. He kept going in a southwest direction, sensing he was getting closer to Villeneuve. He glanced in the Mirror again. Lefou was still riding his horse, heading back to town. He couldn't read his expression.

As Gaston hiked, he reached a very familiar hunting area of his, where the tall evergreens mixed with aspen and maple trees and a clearing formed. It was one of the main trails to Villeneuve - the one which also led to the castle! This place had been infested with wolves before, but he remembered Agathe's words: she had used her magic to control the movements of the wolf pack.

Gaston ran closer; he saw the trodden dirt which made the trail. He listened and heard the clopping of horse's hooves. He could swear they sounded just like the gait of that short-legged little horse, Ami.

And indeed it was. It was Ami, and Lefou, coming around the corner. Gaston hid behind the trunk of a large pine tree.

All he wanted was to see his ex-friend one more time, if only to make sure he was uninjured from the harpsichord accident. He seemed okay, though his posture seemed tired and his head was down. Gaston couldn't see Lefou's expression beneath the brim of his hat. Yes, Agathe had told Gaston he was supposed to be dead, but he couldn't resist the urge to call out to his former companion.

"Lefou!" he shouted. He watched as Lefou glanced up and around, stopping his horse. "Gaston?" his ex-friend said quietly as he looked to one side.

 _No - over this way!_ Gaston thought - and started to say. That very moment, a blinding white light flashed in his eyes.

A hand grasped his shoulder. He felt himself being pulled back and thrown by a powerful, swooping, magical force.

" _Gaston!_ What are you doing!" Agathe shouted at him. He was suddenly back inside her hut.

"I _told_ you - you are assumed by all of them to be dead! My plan won't _work_ if you let them know you're alive!"

"I just wanted to check on him!" Gaston argued.

"It's time to go. I can't trust you anymore. We have to leave. You agreed to let me do this spell on you. It's either that or death, Gaston. You can't meddle in their lives anymore, and if they see you, you won't be well received, I can assure you of that!"

" _Fine!"_ Gaston roared. "I don't _want_ this life anymore. Take my memories away! Take my whole _life_ away and turn me into your nephew. Make me whatever you want me to be - _Aunt Agathe_!"

"So you are ready?" Agathe asked in a gentle, motherly tone, immune to the man's rage and disdain.

"I'm ready," said Gaston, taking deep breaths to try to control his outburst.

Agathe stepped closer to Gaston. She put her hands upon his forehead soothingly.

"Close your eyes."

She took her magic wand from her dress pocket and gently touched the wand upon his temple, while quietly speaking some strange words. She watched Gaston's agitated expression melt into a look of peace.

She waved her wand about her, making her hut disappear so they were again alone in the wilderness. She clutched his arm, and they disappeared into a void of darkness- a dreamlike state that felt as if it could have lasted a thousand years.

...

Gaston stumbled opon a hard, damp surface. He opened his eyes and saw that was on his knees, having fallen to the ground. He pushed with his hands and awkwardly stood up.

He was in a city, on a cobblestone street. The buildings were all made of dull brown brick, about three to five stories high and cramped together. A few carriages and horses sped past him. The sky above was cloudy, and there was a mist of light rain in the air. He could smell the odors of horse droppings mixed with rain, and the more pleasant aroma of fish and onions being cooked somewhere, likely from someone's open window. He heard the voices of the two men walking across the street, conversing. One man sounded angry from his tone.

Knowledge of his life- a life now as familiar and real as his old one could ever be- settled into his mind, along with some vivid emotion.

 _I've just come from a trip to the pawnbroker's,_ he thought _. I'm on Septième Rue, heading back home. I had to sell Father's watch. I was only able to get three livres for it. I can't stand that stingy Monsieur Travers! It would have felt so good to hit him across that ugly face of his, but Aunt Agathe can't afford for me to be arrested again!_

He looked over to his companion, the older woman in a tattered dress and shawl. He reached into his pockets and took out the three coins.

"Aunt Agathe, I wasn't able to get anything for the watch. I'll keep looking for work tomorrow morning," he told her.

Agathe took the coins. "It's all right, Luc dear. Let's go back home and I'll cook some dinner."

He breathed in the air and smelled the dinner cooking in someone's apartment nearby. His stomach ached in hunger.

" _Merci_ , _tante._ I'm famished."

...


	4. Monsieur Avenant

Chapter 4- Monsieur Avenant

...

Luc Avenant and his Aunt Agathe lived in a tiny, two-room apartment in one of the many brick row houses of west Septième Rue, in Paris. There was one small window overlooking the street below, which had a broken pane. The ruckus of people, horses, and carriage wheels could be heard from outside, day and night. Luc had attached some fabric to the broken windowpane to prevent insects from flying in during the warm months.

When they returned home, Luc took some kindling wood sticks and started a fire for his aunt to cook on. He poured some water in a cast iron pot and hung it above the flames. Aunt Agathe cut up four potatoes and two onions, and put them into the water to create a meager soup.

"This is all we have for tonight, I'm afraid," she said to him as they quietly ate the tasteless, soft potato concoction.

"I'll look for a job on the other side of the city," Luc said, trying to hide his bitterness over what happened last month.

He had been a carriage cab driver for a while. He'd enjoyed it. But he'd lost that job on account of being jailed for assaulting another man. It was some irate tavern keeper who'd started an argument with him over the bar tab. He said Luc had shortchanged him. Luc had mistaken the 'dix' on the handwritten bill for a 'six,' and threw six sous on the bar before leaving.

The barman proceeded to chase him, yelling and red-faced and accusing. When he grasped Luc's arm threateningly, Luc decided that the sorry sap needed his nose broken. The city gendarmes, however, disagreed. Luc was locked up for three weeks, until Aunt Agathe borrowed some bail money from her cousin Aloysius.

"This time, Luc, the next job you get- " Agathe said, trying to be kind but firm- "you come directly home after work. Don't stop for drinks. Stay away from the ruffians."

"You're ignoring the fact that I'm one of those ruffians myself. The whole _street_ knows!"

"Then it would be best that you look for employment away from our street. Paris is big, Luc. You can start off on a clean slate again. People _always_ like you when they first see you."

"You're an incredibly optimistic woman, my dear _tante_." Luc said, grinning at her. "You honestly should have married. Most of the men I know have wives who harp, and nag, and let them know what dreadful excuses for men they are! It's why I haven't married yet, of course. I only want a woman who serves, and honors, and encourages me."

"I'm glad you have discerning taste in women, then."

"Aunt Agathe, you're the best!" Luc said, beaming at her. " _You_ would have made a good wife to someone. Why didn't you marry?"

"Likely because I have discerning taste in men."

"If only you had married a man of means, we wouldn't be _living_ in this squalor, eating nothing but potato mash. I could have had a wealthy uncle and aunt adopting me after Maman and Papa died," Luc complained, his eyes narrowing and his lip in a slight pout.

"I'm very sorry that life turned out this way, Luc. And I especially regret the fact that no wealthy husband ever fell into my lap when I was a girl."

"Perhaps you weren't-" Luc began, but Agathe cut him off.

"And don't you _dare_ say it was because I wasn't a beauty! I was in my time. Aloysius can tell you that!" Agathe declared. "What-if's are a waste. _You_ have the potential to be a man of means yourself, so it's up to you now to become one," she added.

"You think I _can't_?" he said in irritation.

"Did you not hear me, nephew? I said you have the _potential_! So stop being a brute and use those strong arms and that charming face of yours to _work_ for it!" Agathe chided.

"Okay! I will!" Luc shouted back. He put his bowl down, stood up, strode into the adjoining bedroom and slammed his door. "Good night! I'm turning in and rising bright and early to seek out my fortune!"

"Good night, dear nephew," she said to the door, smiling sweetly. "I love you."

"Uh...love you too, _tante_ ," Luc grumped.

...

The next morning, Luc Avenant awoke before sunrise. He climbed out of the bumpy cot, washed, shaved, dressed in his best black breeches and waistcoat, and tied his hair back neatly. There were no mirrors in the apartment, a fact that always annoyed him. Once he had a spare livre or two, he'd buy a big shiny one. For Aunt Agathe, of course.

It was still before dawn, and the streets were darkened and quiet. Luc walked slowly as to not break a sweat, taking his time. After about a half-hour, he had covered some good distance. He was in a much, _much_ better part of the city. The buildings were taller, more ornate. A cathedral steeple could be seen up ahead, and the sky above it suggested that there would be no rain today.

 _Clang! Clang!_ The cathedral's bell chimed six times to mark the hour. People and carriages began to appear on the streets. Luc took a deep breath of the morning air and threw his shoulders back in confidence.

 _I can DO this. I'm Luc Avenant,_ he thought to himself. _I won't let anyone make me angry today. I will control my temper, just like Aunt Agathe needs me to._

He wondered who or where he should inquire for employment. Anything requiring reading was out. He could read, but with difficulty. A salesman, perhaps? He could find a shop or store easily. If the store sold a product he was familiar with, like horse tack or knives, he should be able to sell it. He passed one tall building and glanced up at the sign- _Banque de Paris._ He frowned a little, since he wasn't sure if he wanted to spend all of his days in a bank. It might trigger his jealousy too much.

The window of the bank's door reflected Luc's image as he walked past it. He drew closer to make sure his hair and clothes and face looked good. He grinned at his reflection, because the answer to that was a definite _oui._ In fact, the moment he turned away from the window, he spotted a woman in a carriage smiling at him. He waved at her and returned the smile.

He heard voices around the corner, men yelling out to each other. He was determined to avoid trouble, yet he curiously proceeded in the direction of the sounds. There, behind a fence, a new building was just starting to go up. Workmen were milling around, carrying bricks and stones. The foreman was barking orders.

"All of you are too slow! This needs to be completely done by the beginning of next year! If I don't see that west wall built up to twelve feet by Friday, all of you are fired!"

"Ooow!" One of the men yelled in pain as the large brick he was carrying slipped out of his hands and fell on his toes. He slumped to the ground, moaning, with two other men rushing to help him up. "Are you all right?" his nearest companion said.

"You clumsy fools!" the impatient foreman bellowed. "Roche! You're fired!"

The limping man couldn't move because his foot had been crushed. "Monsieur Masson, Roche's foot is broken, we need to get a doctor!" one of the other workmen shouted.

Masson's face was turning purple with rage. "Confound it, you imbeciles! I'm already behind schedule, and-" The foreman spotted Luc, who was quietly observing the chaos from several feet away. "You! Come here!"

"Bonjour!" said Luc, swaggering over to the building site and crew. "Is there any way I can help?"

"One of my _former_ stonemasons is injured, as you can see," said Masson. "Can you help carry him away from the building area?"

"Of course, Monsieur," Luc said eagerly. He went to the injured Roche, surrounded by men who were barely more than boys. Roche himself was small; he probably weighed one hundred and fifty pounds, if that. He wasn't cut out to be a stonemason, that was for sure. As Luc approached, the other men stepped away and allowed him to lift the man up. Roche was indeed as light as a feather.

"Where is the nearest hospital?" Luc asked Masson.

"You don't know?" Masson's tone was curt and impatient.

"I beg your pardon, but I'm not from around here," Luc replied, as politely as he possibly could.

"It's just down the block! St Martin's Hospital, next to the cathedral!"

"Very well, then. Monsieur Roche, keep calm. I'll carry you there myself." Luc assured the little man, who looked humiliated as well as racked with physical pain. "Which way do I go?" he asked of Masson.

"That way!" the foreman said, pointing to the right.

As Luc carried the fellow down the street, he felt a sense of _déjà vu_ come over him. This seemed very natural, a task he had somehow done before. But he couldn't remember in his life ever carrying an injured man to safety, really.

He must have dreamed it in his sleep, perhaps.

"Merci, Monsieur. I appreciate this," Roche hissed painfully through his teeth. "I don't know how I'm going to pay for this...I'm out of a job, I..."

"Don't worry about that now." Luc swiftly carried Roche up the steps to St. Martin's, where inside was an immense room filled with cots and patients, the sick and dying. Doctors and nurses- most of them nuns- tried to attend to them, but there was little they could do.

"Is there an empty cot?" Luc asked a woman dressed in a nun's habit.

"I'm afraid not...Wait!" She sighed. "Now there is. Yes." She gestured across the room, where two people were carrying a person covered in a sheet. A person no longer in need of a bed.

"They didn't have anything...catching, did they?" Roche said nervously.

"I hope not," said Luc. He helped Roche on a cot, where one of the nurses immediately started to examine his foot.

"You're a hero," the small fellow said, his eyes becoming teary.

"I know," Luc said, his heart bursting with pride. _A hero._ That was what he wanted to be, of all things.

"Get well, Monsieur Roche!" he called to him cheerily as he sauntered away, past the rows of patients. He spotted another unfortunate man lying on a cot, moaning, his entire midsection soaked with blood. Somehow, the sight of this carnage filled Luc with a sense of excitement. He could not understand why.

 _Is it because this is my calling?_ _Should I be a doctor?_

 _Damn, I have to be well-educated to be a doctor, though! Not to mention well-read! And I'm NOT well-read._

 _All I am is...athletically inclined._

Luc left the hospital and decided to walk back to the building site. Maybe there was another way he could help. This foreman was in need of a new stonemason. Perhaps he could politely ask to fill in for Monsieur Roche. Temporarily.

"Monsieur!" Luc called out as he approached the foreman. "I carried him to St. Martin's and they took him in. He was certainly lucky, that place is packed!"

"You're back already?"

"Of course."

"You carried a man for _two_ city blocks, not to mention up the staircase of that hospital, in less than twenty minutes?"

Luc shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."

Masson walked closer to Luc, examining him up and down. "I'm impressed. Would you be able to carry...a stack of those one-by-three bricks over there?"

"I should think so," Luc said. He was attracting the attention of the other members of the work crew, who eyed him with a sense of curiosity. He took off his waistcoat and rolled up the sleeves of his blouse. "Hold my vest for me," he said to one of them. The man obliged.

Luc approached the pile of one-by-three-foot bricks. He got to a kneeling position, lifted a brick and cradled it on his arm, while taking another, and another, stacking them until his arms were full. He then hoisted them up and carried the stack of four to Monsieur Masson. "Where do you want them?"

"On that row. Do you know how to apply mortar?"

"I think I do. You just spread it like glue, correct?"

"Yes. Evenly, though. Don't waste it."

"Like this?"

"I...well...yes." Masson observed Luc with a critical eye. In only a few minutes, Luc had unloaded the bricks and laid them down, adhered to the bottom row neatly with a layer of carefully applied mortar.

" _Mon Dieu_! That is the fastest I've ever seen a man lay bricks! No one's as quick as you!" he exclaimed.

"No one's as slick, either!" said one of the workmen.

"He's strong as an ox!" laughed another.

"You're hired!" said Masson. "If you already have a job, I want you to quit it and join our masonry crew as soon as you can! When can you start?"

"Today. I was looking for a situation, as a matter of fact," Luc said with a grin.

"What is your name, strong man?" asked a workman nearby.

"I'm Monsieur Avenant. At your service!" Luc said with enthusiasm. He flexed his right bicep and slapped his left hand upon it. "These arms hardly ever tire, and they're going to get this building up in no time!"

"Excellent!" said Masson. "Four livres an hour is what I give this crew."

"Merci," said Luc, grateful. It was twice what he made as a cab carriage driver. "I'm glad to join you fine gentleman."

Luc worked with the men on construction for the rest of the day, stopping only for twenty minutes to wolf down some bread and salted pork that another man offered to share. It was not a cushy job, but it would do well for him. When six o'clock in the evening came, the other men invited him to join them for beers at a nearby pub.

"Thank you for the invite...but not tonight," he replied. "I need to go home to my family."

"Wife and children?" asked Paquet, a young workman. He'd been watching Luc all day as if he were a god, or at least a role model.

" _Non._ I live with my elderly aunt whom I try to support."

"That is kind of you," Paquet replied.

"Kind? Thank you. I _try_ to be that way. It doesn't always...come naturally," he admitted.

"Roche would think you are," Luc's new colleague insisted.

Luc shrugged his shoulders, not sure of how to take the compliment. "See you tomorrow morning," he said.

...

"Agathe, you are certainly challenging yourself beyond measure with this one," Aloysius opined to his cousin. He had been enjoying the reunion with her, since they hadn't been in touch for years. She had invited him over for tea, and during the hours that Luc had landed and worked his new job, the two Enchanteds were holding a secret meeting. Aloysius had begun the meeting pleasantly, but as the hours wore on, he discovered all the details of what his cousin had been up to the past several years.

He was beyond shocked. Agathe had broken some serious Magical laws, and now it was up to him to bail her out.

"After my success with Prince Adam, I'm sure I can handle him," said Agathe. "Besides, I couldn't bear to leave his dead body lying on those rocks right outside the castle! It would spoil the joy of the celebration."

The sorceror had reached the end of his patience. "Success? You broke the law, Agathe!" he accused. "And now you're about to do it again! We are _not_ to meddle with _Sans-Magie_ political and government affairs! What if _Le_ _Ministère_ discovered what that an entire province of France was without a Prince for ten years?"

"I restored and altered their memories, so they weren't _aware_ they were without a Prince for that long. It's perfectly legal to alter _Sans-Magies_ ' memories. Essential, actually."

"This Gaston Legume fellow- he brought on his own death. You didn't _need_ to do this. You said he was an influential figure in that village. Playing around with a _Sans-Magie_ by reviving him and playing with his memories could end up in disaster. The Prince Adam case almost ended in disaster!"

"Gaston Legume was no great leader, despite how important he thought he was. And as for Prince Adam, I had to pay dearly by hiding out in Villeneuve, living as a beggar woman for so long. But it was worth it! You didn't see how happy Prince Adam and Belle were together. It was true love," she said, her aged face shining with pride and joy.

"You almost failed! Do you realize that you were _this close_ to causing the deaths of those castle servants?" Aloysius accused her.

"Yes, I know, and I'm truly sorry!" she admitted. "When I saw that clock, and and the candle man, and the duster girl, and the others lying there in the snow with their sentience slipping away, I was despaired."

"What if the girl hadn't confessed her love to the Beast? Their deaths would have been _your_ responsibility, Agathe!"

"I know." Agathe averted her eyes from the Aloysius' stern gaze. "That would have been dreadful. But it all turned out good in the end!"

"You could still be investigated by _Le_ _Ministère_."

"I might. Will you protect me, Aloysius? Stay in Paris with me, and if you see someone from _Le_ _Ministère_ here, like my _real_ nephew Alexis, tell them that I'm still far away on assignment."

"What if there are Enchanteds around the Villeneuve area? And they hear one of the locals recall a Beast in a castle, or attacking objects? Did you erase their memories of that, or just the fact that the Prince was in that condition for so long?"

"Only the ten years of the Prince missing. The villagers remember the castle battle and the Beast. I didn't erase their recollection of that."

"You _should_ have!" Aloysius scolded her. "A whole village witnessed a supernatural, magical phenomenon! You created exposure of our world!"

Agathe became worried. "I'll go back there soon," she said penitently.

"To do what? Meddle with villagers' memories? It's more difficult to change them around the more time passes."

"I still want to keep in touch with Prince Adam. I've invested too much time in that boy."

Aloysius sighed in exasperation. "I will watch over 'Luc' if you need to go back sometimes. But _only_ because I don't want to see you in prison. You're family."

"Thank you," Agathe said in relief. "Luc should have been home by now. I hope he's not getting into trouble. Let me check for a moment." She picked up her Magic Mirror that she had hidden away from Luc, and looked into it. "He looks happy...and a little too sweaty. It looks like he found a job! This is good news!"

"I'm glad. He's all yours to deal with, if he starts causing trouble. It wasn't _my_ idea to take him here," said Aloysius.

"He's on his way home!" Agathe said as she gazed into the Mirror. "You'd better change the room back the way it was."

While Luc was gone, Aloysius- who had much more expensive tastes than his cousin- had temporarily upgraded Agathe's apartment by turning it into what resembled a royal parlor. The threadbare chairs were replaced by Rococo style settees. The walls were covered with scarlet tapestries, and the tiny fireplace had been enlarged and accented with two marble cherub statues- _and_ a vase filled with fragrant peach and white roses. He had even conjured up a Persian rug to cover the dirty rotting floorboards beneath.

"All right, back to your reality," he said, taking out his magic wand and sweeping it over the apartment. Everything transformed back to its plain and dull state. "I think I'd better be going. If you are planning to include _me_ in Gaston Legume's fake life, I have better things to do."

"Too late," said Agathe, grinning. "My Luc already knows you, and has you in his memory. You're his Cousin Aloysius, an impoverished apple seller who peddles rotting fruit on the streets. He doesn't respect you all that much."

"What?" Aloysius was livid.

"Here he comes!" Agathe said as footsteps sounded outside. She took her wand and pointed it at her cousin. The older man's midnight blue sorceror's robe transformed into dirty tattered breeches, a threadbare waistcoat, and a stained blouse. His curled white wig disappeared, revealing a mostly bald head, with sparse grey tendrils of hair in the back which badly needed a cut. He sported a long, matted beard, stained with pipe smoke.

" _Agathe_!" Aloysius looked down at his clothes with disgust.

The door opened, and Luc appeared. He was hot, sweaty, and beaming with pride. "Aunt Agathe! Guess what?"

"You got a job!" she pretended to guess.

"That's right! I'm a stonemason building a chateau in the best part of the city! The foreman is paying me four livres an hour, and my days will be from seven in the morning to six in the evening. Long hours, I know...but I'm strong, and I'll grow even stronger with all the lifting I do." He glanced over and saw Aloysius standing there. "Oh, hello Aloysius," he said in a bored tone.

"Hello, Luc. Agathe, it's been a pleasant afternoon, but I...suppose I have apples to sell tonight. Au revoir!" Aloysius said with fake cheer as he walked out the door. Normally, he transported himself via magic when people like Luc weren't around.

Agathe went to Luc and wrapped his tall form in a hug. "Congratulations! Now, you must be so hungry! I'll put on some potato and onion soup."

"Again?" he groaned.

"I know. But soon as you get your first paycheck, we will buy some meat and eggs and good bread. You will need a lot of food to keep your strength with that kind of work. So you have to promise me that you be obedient to the boss and stay away from misdeeds! Keep your head to the grindstone!"

"I will. I promise," Luc said with determination.

...


	5. A Work in Progress

Chapter 5- A Work in Progress

…

Luc and his colleagues worked for two weeks, constructing the walls of the future _château de l'hôtel._ The building was to be five stories high, and would feature a ballroom and lobby on the bottom floor, and suites of generous rooms above. Luc was making a humble salary, enough to pay the rent on his and Aunt Agathe's apartment. He was now able to afford a little fruit, meat and bread for their meals. But other than that, there was very little to spare. Every night, Luc went to bed on his flat straw cot completely exhausted, his muscles sore, only to rise early and march to the building site once again.

He never had time for fun, merriment, or socialization. It made him miserable. What kind of an existence was this? Aunt Agathe was dependent on him, the poor old woman. He began to resent her. If only she had attracted the eye of someone decent, and had married in her youth. If _only_ Luc's parents had lived, though they were just as poor as his aunt.

Better yet- if only he could have been born as someone _else._

At least he had one friend at work who still gave him plenty of praise and compliments. Paquet, the fellow who took to bricklaying alongside him, was smaller than Luc and thus unable to lift the heavy bricks as quickly. He did well enough, though; being the one to spread the mortar very neatly and make certain the bricks were well aligned. He was the 'finesse' man, while Luc had the muscle and power to get it done. Together, they were a team.

One day, a large carriage stopped near the building site. M. Masson and the architect appeared to be both excited and rather stressed to see the arrival.

"Gentlemen! Look as if you're working hard! Do not slack off one second! The Marquis is here!" Masson shouted.

"Who cares," mumbled Luc. He and Paquet were covered in mortar, slapping the thick substance on the rows of bricks with trowels, working together to make certain each hefty brick was straightened and parallel before the adhesive began to harden.

"It's the Marquis de Brumagne," said Paquet. "The owner of this building when it's done."

Luc glanced up to see a white-wigged man disembark from the coach, wearing a champagne-colored overcoat trimmed with lace and ribbon. He wore silk stockings on his calves and dainty slippers on his feet. He was flanked by footmen. M. Masson and the architect greeted him, kowtowing and gushing in what Luc thought was a stupidly obsequious manner.

"Well, let him be impressed by our progress," Luc said quietly to Paquet. "Hopefully our sweat and blood will be worth something to the foolish fop."

"Luc!" Paquet admonished. "Watch your tone. Say, I wonder if his daughter is also here to oversee their building. She's quite a sight," he whispered.

Just as he spoke, a girl stepped out of the carriage. Luc nearly gasped at the vision. She was dressed in a cloud of pink taffeta and lace. She raised her skirts up as she skipped carefully over the rough ground to stand near her father. Beneath her voluminous gown, he caught a peek at a graceful leg clad in white stockings, her little feet encased in pink silk slippers. His eye roamed over her hourglass figure; her nipped in waist tied with a pink ribbon sash. Another pink ribbon accented her décolletage. Luc's eyes nearly bugged out at the sight of the milky white skin above that bow, imagining how soft it must be to the touch.

Her face and hair were like an angel's. Her eyes squinted in the midday sun, but Luc believed they were blue, as blue as the sky. Her porcelain skin was tinged by a rosy blush on her cheeks. Golden-brown ringlets of hair grazed her shoulders.

"Damn," Luc breathed.

Paquet laughed. "You have a better chance of fairies flying out of your derrière than even touching the _hand_ of that lush creature, Avenant."

"You think so?" Luc said, giving Paquet a look of challenge and raising an eyebrow.

"I know so."

The two workers kept a side eye on the Marquis and his daughter as M. Masson and the architect spoke to them.

"Good day, Lady Evangeline," they heard their foreman say to the girl. "It is a pleasure."

"Merci. Good day, Monsieur," she replied in a sweet voice.

"Evangeline! I told you to stay in the carriage. This is no place for you," the Marquis de Brumagne said to her.

"Father, I only wanted to step out and stretch my legs and get some air. It's much too stuffy in the carriage."

Luc glanced up at the lovely young noble lady again. She held a little pink fan that perfectly matched her _robe_ _à l'_ _anglaise,_ fluttering it daintily over her face.

He couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted to be noticed and acknowledged by this fine, exquisite beauty. Standing up straight, he set his trowel on the brick, and called out to her using her name.

"Good day, Evangeline! It is my pleasure to be at your service!"

He bowed a little, then straightened his posture and grinned. He took a second to preen at his hair, sweeping a strand that had fallen out of his ponytail.

The Marquis' daughter's eyes met his with shock, turning to an expression of disdain. Appalled at this worker's brazen, presumptuous act of familiarity, the Dame turned and walked back to the carriage, her golden ringlets bouncing. A footman gave her his hand so she could step back into the safe cocoon of the vehicle.

 _Playing hard to get, aren't we?_ Luc thought. She was likely unable to handle raw, pure masculinity unfettered by restrained culture. He was hoping to get her used to it, if she came around again.

Masson turned and gave Luc a brief look of outrage, before mumbling an apology to the Marquis. "Pardon the actions of my help. I believe the hot sun has baked whatever excuse of a brain he has."

Luc took in a sharp breath. Humiliation and rage boiled within him. His 'help?' _That_ was all he was? ' _Excuse of a brain?_ ' It took _skill_ as well as muscle to arrange and construct these walls for countless hours. He deserved to be treated as at least a human! Not a brainless pack mule!

Who were they to judge? Why was it so wrong for a man like Luc Avenant to greet the Marquis' lovely daughter? It was only a polite greeting, nothing scandalous. Was he that low a man on the totem pole? Not even be allowed to address her?

"I expect the roof and interior walls will be done by the end of autumn," the Marquis said calmly to Masson and the architect. He didn't even mention or acknowledge Luc or his actions. That incensed him even more.

"Most certainly, Your Honor," said M. Masson, nodding like a fool. The Marquis gazed over the building's walls in affirmation. He seemed pleased enough.

"I want plenty of decorative friezes and moldings. I like a vine-and-leaf pattern. Corinthian columns in the exterior _and_ inside the ballroom. Venetian windows, just as in the blueprints!"

"Yes, Your Honor," said the architect, quickly scribbling notes and marks on his blueprints.

The Marquis, escorted by a footman, turned and joined his daughter in the carriage. When they drove away, Masson scowled at Luc.

"That was completely out of line, Avenant! You are only to work and keep your mouth closed! Monsieur Archambault and I are the only ones who need to speak with His Honor and the Dame. Not _you_!" He wrinkled his nose, as if Luc was covered in smelly horse dung instead of mortar.

Luc wanted so badly to hit someone, or something. He sucked in a breath, mustered up all the dignity he could, and mumbled a feeble apology.

"Sorry, but I did not think I was being uncouth."

"You were. There are unwritten rules when it comes to dealing with the gentry. Even I feel unworthy to speak with them. And you...well, you are _nothing_ to them."

" _Nothing_? We're building their damned hotel for them! Would this Marquis care to haul the bricks himself?" Luc spat out.

"Avenant! Do you want to be relieved of your duties?" the foreman snapped at him.

"No," Luc said quietly, trying to regain control, though it was becoming harder today than usual.

"Back to work. All of you!" Masson ordered. He gave an eye of warning to Paquet, who seemed amused by his friend's insolence.

…

When evening fell, Luc was restless. After being humiliated and threatened, he felt the need to have some relaxation and amusement for once before returning to his old _tante_. Perhaps he might be late getting home.

"Paquet, how about you and I go out for a drink or two? I'll buy," he announced once the evening's shadows fell and the cathedral clock struck seven.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, why not?" said Luc. "I have a few coins to spare."

Surprised to see his diligent friend finally willing to let his hair down, Paquet smiled. " _Merci_ , Luc. I've been hoping I could show you around my neighborhood sometime. My kin and neighbors have been wanting to meet you," he said. "They always meet for drinks at Roux's, on Seventh Avenue. I can show you the way."

"What have you been telling your 'kin' about me?" Luc asked in a tone of curiosity.

"Nothing bad. Just that you're one of the best masonry workers I've had the chance to build with. That your strength and speed is legendary!" Paquet boasted of him.

Luc's mood lifted a bit. This was what he needed. Encouragement and praise. He would die like a man suffering of thirst if he did not get it. "Thank you, Paquet," he said with a grin.

"Up this avenue and past the riverfront is the Third Quartier, the part of the city where I live." Paquet told Luc as he led the way through the 'good' part of town and on to a more crumbling and dusty _quartier,_ almost similar to Luc's own neighborhood. It was busy and bustling with horses, children playing on the staircases of row houses, and mothers visiting amongst each other.

"Hello, Jean!" one woman called out to Paquet.

"Bonjour, Jeanne!" he replied to her with a friendly wave, their similar names sounding like echoes. He turned back to Luc.

"She's my neighbor," he told him. "That building is my home on the end. Perhaps you could meet my parents and brothers. All five of us live on the top floor. A little crowded." Jean Paquet told Luc. He pointed to a narrow brick building sandwiched between the others, like books on a shelf.

"Jean, who is your friend? Won't you introduce us?" a younger woman's voice called out eagerly.

Paquet gestured to Luc. "This is the man I lay bricks with all day. Monsieur Luc Avenant. Luc, this is Jeanne, Lucille, and Marie, and Madame LaCroix, and her daughter-"

"Idelle," the daughter finished, since Paquet had not remembered her name right away.

Luc nodded back to the assorted women. All were all staring at him with admiration, even though both his and Jean's clothes were dirty and sweaty and they hardly looked presentable. The women were all clothed in worn-out, stained dresses, their faces pinched and careworn, even the younger ones. He didn't see a pretty one amongst the lot at all.

They passed the building that Jean indicated was his, and ended up in a pub on the corner. Luc was glad to be in an environment of men relaxing and enjoying themselves. It was a feeling of being 'at home' again, though he couldn't understand why. He was never a barfly, as he could recall.

As they walked inside the dark, cave-like beer hall, their eyes took a moment to adjust to the candlelight. Men turned to look at them, and a few voices greeted Paquet.

"Bonjour, Jean! Who is this?"

"This is my fellow bricklayer I told you about. Luc Avenant. Thanks to him, the Marquis' hotel will be built on time. He's the strongest stonemason I've ever worked with!"

A half dozen friendly faces welcomed him. Luc found the bartender and ordered himself and Jean two mugs of beer. They found a bench and finally had the chance to sit down and be off their tired feet. The two raised their mugs to their lips and prepared to drink thirstily.

Luc suddenly screamed, causing Jean and all the other patrons to open their mouths in confusion and shock.

For some odd reason, the beer was causing Luc's lips to burn.

He jumped up and let go of the mug. As it crashed to the floor, he moaned pitifully and clapped a hand to his mouth, as pain throbbed and blistered his tongue and lip. Was it beer, or was it liquid molten metal? Anger and pain caused his eyes to water as he searched out the bartender.

"Luc! What happened? What's wrong?" a puzzled Paquet cried. He took a sip of his own drink. Normal, cool, bittersweet beer. Nothing wrong with his.

"What did you _do_? Are you trying to poison me?" Luc screamed, his words coming out slurred from his blistering mouth. He took two strides toward the barman, reaching out and grasping him by the collar. "What was in that?"

The man's eyes widened pleadingly. "Nothing! It's our best brew! It is the same I gave to Paquet! Jean- let him taste yours!"

Luc let go of the barman's collar and eyed the mug that Jean was drinking. Jean offered it to him, apologizing to the bartender profusely, assuring him that he was innocent of any tampering. Luc grasped the handle of the mug and brought the liquid up to his mouth, carefully tasting it on his tongue.

OWWW!" he screamed, flinging the mug so hard that Jean had to duck as to not be hit. Beer flew over the men nearby, splashing them. Glass shattered about the floor.

"What the hell?" they all began to shout.

"Luc! I don't understand! Maybe it's not the beer, maybe it's _you_! Are you sick or something?" Jean Paquet babbled. He felt very badly to have caused his new friend such pain by inviting him here.

He was shocked by the look of violent rage that was twisting Luc Avenant's handsome face into one ugly and monstrous.

" _Shut up_!" Luc shouted, his hands clenched. "Shut up, all of you! And no, I'm not sick. You think this is some kind of joke?" He glared at Jean and began to bring his fisted hand back, preparing to punch him.

Jean held his palms out to plead with the enraged man. He couldn't have predicted this dark side of his new friend to come out, nor his strange physical reaction to a sip of ordinary beer.

"Luc...please! I'm sorry you're in pain. If you want to smack my mouth to make me feel pain too, go ahead. Except the gendarmes are here. They lock up anyone who starts fisticuffs in this watering hole. _Right,_ Norbert and Thierry?"

"Right," a voice piped up among the patrons. Two robust men stood up. The taller one indicated a badge on his lapel. "Monsieur, you start being disorderly, you'll be chained in a dirty cell for ten days. It's not pretty," he said.

Luc softened his stance and put his hand down. Paquet gave a sigh of relief.

Luc turned around in the direction of the two guardians of the peace, squinting to get a look at their _Gendarmes de la Ville de Paris_ brass buttons and clubs on their belts. Behind them, another person shouldered her way past them and approached Luc. A woman.

She looked to be a barmaid, dressed in a ruffled peasant blouse, apron and stained skirt, her blonde hair pinned up in a kerchief. Luc's anger faded somewhat at the welcome sight of her. She was actually attractive, with a warm smile and green eyes, though he personally thought she could have a little 'more' in the bosom to suit his tastes. He could swear there was something familiar about her facial features- but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Luc," she whispered. "Calm down, my sweet man." She raised a dainty hand to his lips, caressing his face with her other palm. "It's okay _,_ it is alright," she whispered.

Luc's blisters and burns faded away. Her cool fingertips were like a salve, healing the pain within seconds.

"How did you do that?" he said incredulously. Feeling frisky, he reached out and clutched her wrist, squeezing it in order to keep her near. He wanted the presence of a female in close proximity, after a long drought of not being around them with the exception of his old aunt. He felt her jerk away, her warm expression hardening.

"Practice! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have customers to serve." He watched her bustle away, snatching mugs and filling them at a tap barrel. Why was this woman's eyes and demeanor so familiar?

The bartender gave the woman an odd look. "Did I hire you? Why don't I remember you? Where's Mirette?"

"She's in the back room. She was feeling ill. I'm a friend of hers and wanted to fill in. If you don't want me here, I'll leave," the barmaid said.

A second barmaid, a shorter girl with black hair, showed up from another room. "Bonjour Mirette," said the blonde. "Glad you feel better. I best be going, since Monsieur Roux didn't hire me."

"I think I'm going to head home, Luc," said Paquet, looking tired. "You want a few coins for a taxi carriage? I can give you some."

"Thank you," Luc replied, exhaustion and a sense of powerlessness and misery settling over him. "I have a long way to walk home." He swept his eyes over the now-unfriendly faces of the other patrons. He lost sight of that blonde barmaid with the healing touch. She was gone. He followed Jean Paquet out the door, and the two men parted ways.

Luc flagged down a taxi carriage, which brought him back to the Second Quartier of the city, and his own apartment building.

"Aunt Agathe- I know, I'm late. I was talking with people after work," he started to explain in exasperation after bursting through the door. He regarded his aunt, sitting in her chair with a cup of tea. She had stew on the fireplace, which had gone nearly cold.

"No need to worry," said Agathe. "Help yourself to some dinner."

"Don't mind if I do."

"How was work?" she asked him nonchalantly. "Did anything exciting happen?"

"Not necessarily," he said in a guarded tone. He scooped a good amount of stew into a tin plate. "Ah, onions and beef. This hits the spot. The only thing that happened is that we saw some noble people overseeing the building. A Marquis."

"Interesting."

"I can't stand those spoiled clowns. Thinking they own the world. Do you know what I'd do if I had my way with them?" Frustration and pent up anger caused his voice to rise.

"What, Luc dear?"

"Put them all in a ship and sink it, drowning the whole lot of them!"

"You mustn't speak of the rich and nobility with murderous intentions, Luc. Someday perhaps, there may be revolution on the horizon, but for now- we must live with the social order, like it or not. Personally, if I met a spoiled noble, I'd wish something much more creative upon them."

"What would that be?" Luc said, between mouthfuls of cold stew.

"I'd wish to see one changed into a hideous, furry beast creature. The mind of a man, but trapped in the body of a monster, so that others would cringe at the sight of him."

"You have strange, silly fantasies,then," Luc scoffed. "I wouldn't want them turned into anything _powerful._ Better to reduce them down to a worm, or a common sewer rat. Then I'd crush them with my boot!"

"That would be incredibly cruel," Agathe said, shaking her head. "Luc, try your best to turn the other cheek when you feel slighted or hurt by those in high positions. I know it's difficult, but it is the most respectable and noble thing to do. And it would do you good in this cruel world to make friends, and _keep_ them. Have you done so lately?"

"Have I made a friend?" Luc paused to consider. "Yes. I have. A man named Jean, he's a good fellow. He admires me. He tells me how strong and fast I am, which is true."

"Have you let him know of his good qualities?" Agathe asked pointedly.

"No...why should I? He isn't the strong one of us. And he talks too much."

Agathe sighed, putting her head in her hands. "But you said he's a good fellow. Luc! In order to keep loyal friends and be held in honor, you need to _give_ as well as take. That means you need to let him _know_ the things you like about him."

"He likes _me_. He assists, follows, and praises _me_. That is what I like about him," Luc said, shrugging.

"Then for God's sake, _tell_ him," said Agathe, losing her patience.

"Why are you so annoyed?"

"I'm not. I just wish...you would think outside yourself once in a while. If you want a woman to love you, the same must be done as for a friend. Except _much_ more giving than taking."

"I'll never marry, so why bother? Why bring more children into this squalid city, when you have to work so hard to feed them a morsel? _Non!_ I'd much rather keep to myself and be a bachelor for life. Taking cheap women for a night, like a good sip of wine, then discarding them. Love is for fools. And siring children is for the rich and important. _Good night,_ Aunt Agathe!"

He stood up and retired to his room in a bitter mood, slamming the door. Agathe retired as well, touching her Magic Mirror beneath its hiding spot under her quilt. She was glad she had been peering into it today to observe Luc.

Her feat of magical transport across town- appearing in that pub amongst strangers, her appearance altered- that had not been her plan today at all. But she had to do something to stop him from committing violence when things had been going so well. She vowed to let him deal with the consequences next time.


	6. Dreams

Chapter 6- Dreams

...

It was Sunday, the only day in which work on the building stopped, and the stonemasons could have a precious day off. Upon waking up and hearing the church bells and feeling the baking sun, Luc cursed the return to dull reality.

He had allowed himself to sleep until ten in the morning; his odd and thrilling dream now disturbed by the toll of cathedral bells. He hadn't been inside a church since his parents were alive- at least that's what he _thought_ Aunt Agathe said.

He didn't recall his parents. Anything from his earlier life was like a mysterious fog during the waking daytime. Names existed like print on a page, or a story that Aunt Agathe had told him out loud. 'Marguerite and Claude Avenant.'

He lacked tangible images of them. _Your Papa, my brother, he was short and fair. Marguerite was tall and striking and brunette, Luc. You favor her,_ he once heard Aunt Agathe say. His childhood and youth seemed foggy, far away except for memories of Aunt Agathe taking care of him, cooking, cleaning and taking him on walks to a park to feed bread crusts to the birds. He had no memories of his birth parents. During the long hours at work, he tried to think of them while Paquet prattled on about own family. He failed.

Recent memories, such as his old job driving a cab carriage, several bar brawls, jail stints, even a few dalliances with neighborhood women were there, knocking around in his head. Yet they didn't arouse any strong emotion. He did recall that his favorite girl had been named Juliette, and she had light brown hair, and a soft body, and plenty of freckles on her fair skin, but he didn't really care. If he saw her again and she wanted some fun, that was fine- but if not, it was fine as well. 'No passion' was the theme of his existence.

There was something 'missing.'

The only thing that excited him lately was the vision of the seemingly unattainable Evangeline. The thought of more contact with her, the challenge of impressing her, was the one thing which kept him going the last few days. He kept with the motions of work and toil, while his conscious thoughts of past events remained empty and wooden.

But at night and in the early hours of dawn, it was a different story. What he saw and heard during sleep felt alive and real. Like memories, but not his own. They _couldn't_ be.

His dreams were vivid. Colorful. Exciting. He had just emerged this morning from a dream of being a soldier at war, wearing a red coat and leading a brigade. He dreamt of wielding a musket with a bayonet tip and taking down enemies. Visions of bodies in the grass, writhing and moaning. He was a survivor, a victor.

"Luc, are you awake? I'm going to the market and visiting with a friend," Aunt Agathe called to him from the main room.

"All right," he grunted back, staring up at the stained ceiling in his tiny, closet-sized bedroom. A tiny spider meandering at its corner kept him company. He decided not to bother to kill it. He wanted to lie still for awhile, just to relive the dream.

Did the visions of war symbolize something? Was he fighting a battle against unfair society, the rich and powerful? Did the dream predict the future? Should he find an enlisting office and join the army?

Perhaps he should. There _had_ to be more to life than trudging downtown every day, hefting bricks and stacking them. Returning home- not to a wife, but to his only living relation, a nagging old lady who thought herself to be the fountain of wisdom. ' _Be kind, control your temper, be a good friend_..' All he wanted was to fight and be feared and be _somebody._

Luc tried to recall the vision of himself marching forward with the brigade, the smell of gunpowder, the shouts and moans. He dreamt he had shot a Prussian- some voice in the dream had said the enemy was Prussian- in the middle of his forehead. Luc had relished it, and even told the enemy 'au revoir' as he sent him to the next life.

He smiled as he lay there in the cot. It was good to try to remember this now, before it faded away soon.

Another scene of the dream had Luc trying to protect one of his soldiers, yelling at him to stay in back of the line. It was some chubby boy with dark wavy hair. ' _The fool!'_ Luc had screamed at him in the dream. Luc had the strong notion that he _had_ to keep that particular boy alive, because they had come from the same place and went everywhere together. This person's presence was vital.

Luc decided that the other soldier represented someone in his waking life. But he currently didn't _know_ anyone who fit the description of a short, chubby fellow with dark wavy hair. This confused him.

There had been other colorful and interesting dreams, too, in the weeks prior. He had recently dreamt of a quaint little town. And a big, comfortable home on a hill overlooking that town, in which dwelled a mean-spirited man. This cruel, but affluent and handsome man was someone whom Luc felt like he aspired to be, and wanted to please. The big man sat at a table and yelled disparaging names at him. ' _Idiot._ ' Luc felt weak and small compared to that man.

The dream's scene had shifted to Luc sitting on a rooftop, trying to make himself feel tall and proud. There were snowflakes falling around him. He fell down into the snow, and crawled to the door of the house, which was locked. He kept yelling out for someone to find him, calling whoever it was a 'fool.'

He had woken up right at that point, he remembered. He much preferred the battle dream he'd just experienced over the one about the house, the cruel man, the rooftop, and the locked door.

Luc finally raised his aching body off the cot after a half hour. He raided the cupboards and ate as much as he wanted. Agathe had left some baguettes, cheese, and some overripe apples she got from her cousin. He took a bite of one of the apples, but it was soft and likely wormy. She'd left him some eggs, placed in a bowl. Since Luc didn't want to bother getting a pan and warming the fireplace in midsummer, he cracked several eggs on the sideboard and ate them raw, sucking the yolks and whites out of the light-brown shells. That hit the spot.

The last thing he wanted to do on his day off was spend it inside the cramped and overheated apartment, either alone or with Agathe. She was probably out talking with Aloysius or the other old ladies of the neighborhood. Luc put on his waistcoat and shoes and went out into the streets.

He wondered what Paquet was doing today. He had the urge to walk the long distance to his neighborhood, find the building he lived in, go to the top floor and knock on his door. He would command Paquet to join him on an adventure, something away from the bounds of the city. Luc felt trapped on all sides by Paris; it was too stifling and crowded. He craved nature, open spaces and trees. He wasn't even sure where the city ended and couldn't recall ever being outside of it. Was he going crazy?

He made a decision about what he would do today. He would find the army recruiting office. Flagging down a carriage cab driver, he asked him where that would be.

"The army recruiters? They're downtown, monsieur. At the King's Royal Embassy building," the driver told him. "It's out of my range, though. You have twenty livres?"

"Only seven on me. But I can walk the rest of the way."

The driver dropped him off several blocks away from the embassy building, and Luc walked along the streets. He wasn't dressed his best, but he still managed to invite shy smiles from ladies of all ages as he passed by. Of course, whenever he passed a reflective window he glanced at his image. Compared to the other denizens of Paris, he was likely one of the handsomest men in the city- poor or not.

The thought boosted his ego, and there was a spring in his step as he arrived at the embassy's large door. The building was opulent and large, filled with important looking, bustling men in cravats and wigs. After asking around, he was told to stop in an office at the top of a marble staircase.

Two men were occupied at desks, dressed in military uniforms. One of them stood and gazed at him, his brow furrowing as if he somehow recognized him. He began to stand to his feet.

"Bonjour, gentleman! I've come to enlist in the Army-"

" _Captain?_ "

"Huh?" Luc replied with a dumbfounded look.

"Captain de Soleil Legume! Remember me?" the officer said. "It's Major Delacroix! You might remember me as Lieutenant Delacroix, but the General gave me a promotion," the tall, greying middle aged man said with an amiable chuckle.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but...I've never met you before in my life." Luc shook his head, confused.

"You're _not_ Captain de Soleil Legume?"

"No...I don't know who that is. My name's Luc Avenant. I've come to enlist for the army reserves."

"Well I'll be darned! You're the spitting image of a great, victorious captain I fought with back in the Seven Years' War. Did he have a twin brother?"

"I beg your pardon, but I don't know who this Captain was. You honestly think _I_ look like a man you knew?"

Luc felt flattered. He'd love to think he had a doppelganger who may have been important. But then...that meant there was _another_ man running around with his exact looks. He liked to think his rugged and charming face was unique.

"Yes! Although he was very young back then. Only seventeen or eighteen, so he'd be in his early thirties by now. He may have changed. Your face immediately reminded me of him. Never mind. You want to enlist in the reserves?"

"Yes, sir. I'm willing to be sent anywhere you wish, for any future wars or conflicts. I've been told I have _excellent_ strength and fast reflexes." He grinned, touching his chest with his thumb.

Delacroix shook his head. "I swear to God...if you weren't Legume-" He cleared his throat and took a form from the desk and a quill pen. "Well, let's get started filling out your information. Name is Luc-"

"Avenant," said Luc.

"Date of birth?"

He looked into the man's inquiring eyes. _Mon Dieu_ , he didn't know his birthday!

"I...I can't remember."

"Do you have a certificate of birth at home?"

Luc rubbed the back of his neck. "Well...no. We have hardly _anything_ at home. A few sticks of furniture. A straw mat and a few old dishes. Not one piece of paper…"

"I understand, Monsieur. We can see about that later. It's best to have that information on record. We have many recruits lately, on account of the revolt in British-colonized America against their King. They have an ally in France. We need young, healthy men to handle being shipped across the Atlantic. Do you get seasick easily?"

"No. I can assure you that I have never fallen seasick," said Luc.

"Do you remember your year of birth? The reason being that we put the maximum age at thirty years old. And to be honest, Monsieur, you appear to me to be at _least_ that, if not thirty-five."

Luc gazed down at his folded hands. Indeed, the last time he looked closely at the tiny, broken mirror he'd found in a junk pile, he did have a careworn look, with a few fine wrinkles and sun freckles. It was due to the constant toil in the summer weather. If he did this building job much longer, his skin would turn leathery.

"I don't. Can't recall it. My parents have been dead for years. My aunt may know."

"Well, Monsieur...I hate to say you've wasted your time, and I appreciate your eagerness, but I must get that information. It's not my decision, but the War Department's. They put an age limit on all new soldiers. They must be between sixteen and thirty, no exceptions. Come back with your identity information, and we'll get the paperwork done."

Luc sucked in a breath, trying to hide his disappointment. "Thank you for your time. It was a pleasure to meet you." The major reached out his hand; and he shook it.

"Do you have any relatives in Alsace province?" Delacroix asked.

"I don't know where that is," Luc replied. "Is that where my 'twin brother' is from?"

"Oui. The last I heard, that young Captain went back home, and enjoys a fine life as a gentleman of leisure, doing a lot of hunting. Do you hunt?"

"No, but it sounds like a pleasurable activity. Thank you again, Major."

Luc went out of the office, down the stairs and into the street, irritation filling him again. " _Too old?_ " he muttered to himself. Too old to have adventure and serve his country? Well, the least he could do is ask Aunt Agathe for some paperwork or at least tell him the date he was born.

The downtown district wasn't far from the Third Quartier, where Paquet lived. Unfortunately, Luc was out of coins, so he walked until he found the street where he worked. From there, he was able to navigate his way to Paquet's neighborhood. He had a good visual memory, and recalled the name of the corner he lived by as _Seconde_ and _Louis_ streets. The building was red-brick.

He passed by several women who stopped to stare at him, and entered the building, soon reaching the top floor. He found a door and knocked.

Paquet would be _overjoyed_ to see him! He'd be ready and waiting to go on some kind of weekend excursion with his good friend Luc Avenant. It was only mid-afternoon; plenty of daylight to explore. Perhaps they could find the Seine River, and get some relief from the dusty city. Look for animals of some sort, perhaps.

 _Hunt._ That was something he wished he could do. Though he'd never hunted, and didn't have the kind of gear needed. It was a pastime meant for either high society gentlemen on their country estates, or rural peasants in villages. Luc was neither. He was just a city rat.

After several knocks, a petite woman opened the door. She was middle aged, with pale blue eyes that looked very much like Jean Paquet's. The apartment smelled of some kind of onion and beef cuisine cooking. Luc was rather hungry.

"Hello-"

"Bonjour! Are you Madame Paquet by any chance?"

"Yes, I am." She gave him a soft smile. Being a woman, she _had_ to be pleased by a face like Luc's.

"Is Jean here?"

"He is. Jean! You have a visitor! I think it's someone from work." She stepped away, and Jean came to the door.

"Luc! What are you _doing_ here of all places?" Paquet gave him a tense, awkward look.

"I thought I'd grab you to join me on an adventure."

Jean sighed. "But...it's, um, my day off to relax. I'm spending it with my family. I never get to be home other than Sundays." He shrugged and gave Luc a weak smile. "Would you like to come in and meet my family? And my girl?"

"Girl?" Luc was shocked. Paquet never said anything about a girlfriend. Not that he'd ever asked. Luc tuned out a lot of Jean's talk about other people.

Jean let Luc in, where he was greeted by five friendly faces- Jean's Maman, who'd gone back to her cooking, Monsieur Paquet, a thin fellow who looked like an older version of Jean with no hair, two young boys with the same light dusty-brown hair as Jean's, and a petite brunette girl in her late teens. She wore a pinafore over her dress and was cooking along with Jean's mother. She appeared shy when Luc locked eyes with her.

"This is my co-worker, Luc," Jean said amiably. "I'd like you to meet my parents, my brothers Theo and Bertrand, and this-" he gestured to the girl- "is Clémence."

"Pleased to meet all of you." Luc stood with his hands in his pockets, an expectant smirk on his face.

"Are you hungry?" Jean's mother asked. "I can always put more water in the stew."

"Why, yes I am!" Luc boomed. The two brothers gazed awestruck at the big, strong man. Jean, however, looked tense, still holding the door wide open with a forced smile.

"Well, come and have a seat, Luc. The more the merrier. We've heard you are quite a worker," said the elder M. Paquet, getting up and sliding an extra bench to the table. Luc sat down next to the two boys.

"Can you play kick-the-rock after dinner?" one of them asked.

Luc shrugged. He wanted to do something _exciting,_ not play with a couple of kids. Madame Paquet and Clémence served the beef stew, butter croissants, and tea. When Luc started to dig in, he didn't notice that the entire family bowed their heads and clasped their hands for grace. Luc put the spoon down and awkwardly did the same.

"For what we are about to receive, we are truly thankful. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen," prayed Jean's father.

They ate silently for a few moments, and Luc looked over at Jean and Clémence, who were sitting together and stealing fond glances at each other. Clémence was blushing. She leaned in and whispered to Jean, "Aren't you going to tell your friend our big news?"

"Oh, of course! I'm sorry." Jean touched Clémence's hand. "Luc, Clémence is my special guest at our home because she will soon be a part of my family. She accepted my proposal of marriage."

" _Marriage?_ " Luc said, gobsmacked. How old was Jean, anyway? He was still wet behind the ears! Why would he want to get tied down with a wife already when he had his whole _life_ ahead of him?

"Yes! Isn't it great?" Jean's face, barely growing stubble and dotted with a bit of acne, broke into an ear-to-ear grin. "I hope you can get to our wedding! It'll be in autumn, when the stonemasonry work slows down on the hotel and the weather is cooler. Only a small wedding, of course. We don't have funds to spare to feed a crowd. I'm saving up to rent the room across the street, so we can start our own family."

He looked lovingly at Clémence, who beamed with joy.

"Oh. All right," said Luc with a shrug.

He felt rather let down. Paquet wouldn't have any time for him! Luc might just have to find another friend. A friend who would go on adventures with him at the drop of a hat. One who stuck by his side and adored _him_ , Luc. Not a married man, devoted to his wife!

"Do you have a wife, Monsieur?" Madame Paquet asked him.

Luc controlled his urge to scoff. "No. Never married. Haven't found the right one, I guess. So...congratulations, Jean and-"

"Clémence," said Jean.

"Clémence," repeated Luc, giving Jean's sweet little fiancée a playful wink. He didn't notice that Jean made a slightly miffed face after the wink. "Congratulations," he repeated, nodding. "She's a lovely girl."

Jean stood up and pushed out his chair. "That was a delicious dinner, Maman. Clémence, I think your croissants are a lot softer and more buttery than even Maman's! Uh...would you like to take a walk with me?" He directed the question to Clémence only, not Luc. "I have a few coins in my pocket. There's some street musicians at the park downtown."

"I'd love to," she said, looking at her fiancé lovingly.

"Our first date being betrothed!" Paquet said in joy. Luc had never seen him in a sour or grumpy mood, but today he looked ecstatic. "Clémence and I are going out, Luc. I hope you have fare to go home."

"I don't, actually."

Paquet didn't even offer to invite him along. The three of them could walk downtown together. Luc might even snag a date for himself, before the night was over. All he had to do was find a group of girls and smile.

He watched the couple leave and skip down the stairs, having no choice but to excuse himself to go.

"Monsieur! Can you play kick-the-rock with Theo and me?"

Luc turned to the two small boys, trying to hide his irritation. He wanted to say no, and go off to find a pub and drink and flirt with tavern women. But he had no money for it. And rejecting the children would look cruel in front of Paquet's parents, who were still seated at the table and might wish for time to themselves.

"All right," he replied. "You play 'kick the rock' by kicking a rock around the street, I guess?" he asked the boys.

"Uh-huh!" said the curlier-haired youngest child. "We see who kicks it the farthest!"

"Well, let's go! Thank you very much for dinner," he said to Jean's parents before heading down the stairs and outside to the sidewalk with Jean's little brothers. They kept kicking their chosen rocks into the street. Horses and carriages sped past, and so Luc insisted on going to retrieve them so the children wouldn't be in danger of getting hit. After a while, as the shadows grew longer, he was relieved to hear the mother call out to her boys from the top window that it was time to wash up and get to bed.

"Monsieur Luc, you're the best rock kicker _ever_!" squealed little Theo, and they rushed to hug him around the waist. Luc smiled and gave them high-fives with his palm.

"Good night, and mind your mother, okay?"

"We will!" they said as they disappeared into the brick row house. Luc walked home alone, enjoying the coolness of the evening air and the quieting of the city. He spotted a windmill in the distance, and saw that it was turning slowly. It meant a breeze, so sleep would be good before another day of labor.

He'd ask Aunt Agathe for the information needed to join the reserves. He hoped he wasn't too old. If he was, he'd try to convince that officer that he was _just_ as fit as any kid. After all, he supposedly looked like some war hero the Major used to know. He'd use that, plus his power of persuasion.

In the meantime, he'd keep trying to impress Evangeline. Luc was unlikely to have her for a wife, of course. Only a fool could think a stonemason could marry a Marquis' daughter. But he wasn't sure he _wanted_ a wife anymore.

If he did become a soldier, he'd give Evangeline a brass button from his uniform coat before shipping off overseas.

...


	7. Wedding Party and Maladies

Chapter 7- Wedding Party and Maladies

...

Luc asked Aunt Agathe the next day if she had any documentation of his birthdate, so he could make a second attempt to enlist in the French Army. "They said I need a certificate! I don't understand why they'd need papers- just look at me! I'd be a natural soldier. Strong, tough, dashing, enduring of hardship, I can handle it all!"

"The Army? Why do you want to do such a thing?" she asked him in shock.

"To see the world outside the city, of course! Adventure, battle, perhaps even a chance to sail to another part of the world!" Luc replied.

Agathe give him a sorrowful look. "All right. I'll look for it. But you must be certain this is what you want to do. Leave your dear, poor old _tante_..." She let that sentence hang in the air while Luc felt increasingly guilty.

He watched her walk stoop-shouldered to her tiny bedroom. She closed the decaying wooden door, and Luc heard nothing but silence for a few minutes. She came out with a yellowed, folded piece of paper and handed it to him. It was written in faded ink and stated that a child by the name of Luc Benoit-Claude Avenant had been born on September the thirteenth, 1744. It revealed his age to be thirty-two. He'd had a birthday the week before, and he never realized it.

He'd been born in a residence on Vingt-Quatrième Rue in Paris. The parents were named as Claude and Marguerite Avenant. Luc stared at the paper in fascination.

"Aunt Agathe...why is it that I barely remember them?"

"It was long ago, dear. They died when you were a little boy."

"I was nine, I thought. I _should_ remember things from when I was nine, or even as young as four or five."

Agathe furrowed her brow. "Can you tell me the things you do remember?"

Luc took a deep breath and tried to think. "The park...feeding birds. I think we lived above a store."

Agathe put her hand on his shoulder, stroking it, and as Luc closed his eyes, he began to remember more.

"My father had a store. It sold candles, and lanterns, and home supplies. It was called Claude's Merc-merc-uh-"

"Merchantile," said Agathe.

"Yes! Merchantile! Other boys would come to the store. They would buy things, like candy sticks and toy hoops. It made me proud that my father was a shopkeeper!"

Luc's face lit up in joy as more memories emerged. Their brick building, the upper apartment above the store that was big enough for two decent sized bedrooms. Maman's long black hair, hazel eyes and kind, though not beautiful, face. Papa, a merry, outgoing man with a beard and brown hair. Papa became very sick, Luc remembered. There was a doctor telling Luc his father was dead. He recalled a terrible sadness, a lost and lonely feeling. Then Maman died only a month later, of the same sickness. Those scary doctors, in their black beaked masks. A new lady, who introduced herself as Aunt Agathe, taking him away to live in her dingy little apartment. No more school, no more friends…

"If only they'd lived," he muttered.

"I'm terribly sorry, dear." Agathe put her frail arms around Luc's shoulders, giving him a hug. "If you really want to join the Army and make them proud, and be a brave soldier...I won't stop you. Cousin Aloysius will watch over me if you need to go. Just try. You are still young enough."

Luc embraced her back. He gave her a huge grin, kissing her ceremoniously on each cheek. "Merci, Aunt Agathe! You're the _best_!" he gushed.

Early the next morning, he returned to the recruiting office with his proof of French citizenship and age. The officer in charge told him that at thirty-two years old, he was past recruitment age. He told Luc slyly that he could 'fudge' the birth year if Luc passed a vision test. He had him sit in a chair, put a patch over each eye, and try to read out numbers and letters in various sizes on the other side of the room.

Luc could not make out the blurry smaller letters with either eye. He failed the test, and therefore was declared too old and too vision-poor to become a soldier of the Noble Kingdom of France. Disappointed and discouraged, he trudged off to work- only to listen to Jean Paquet whistle merry tunes and chatter on about his upcoming wedding to his girl.

...

Weeks went by, each day tedious but uneventful. Luc did not see the Marquis or his lovely daughter at the building site again. The foreman, Masson, urged the men to work faster and longer. He was determined that the outer walls of the Hotel were to be completed by November when cold weather set in. During the upcoming winter, the masonry crew would begin the interior fireplaces and accents.

Jean was excited about this. Luc often noticed his friend during lunch breaks with a sketchbook and charcoal, making drawings of lions, cherubs, columns, and elaborate archways and flying buttresses. When M. Masson came by, Jean would quickly close his book of artwork shut. Finally, Luc asked Jean why he acted so embarrassed about showing his drawings. After all, it was something he was good at; he ought to be proud of it.

"I'm not a real architect or designer," Jean said darkly. "If the boss sees me doodling, I'll get fired. He will think I have other ideas on how to design the building. That's M. Archambault's job, not mine."

" _You_ should become an architect, then," Luc replied as he hefted a pile of bricks. "You know, save up some money. Go to school."

"I'll never be able to afford those fancy schools," Jean sighed. "I'll barely be able to pay rent on the apartment for Clémence and I."

"We deserve to get a raise. Look at how magnificent this building is becoming. It is all due to us!" Luc said in a bitter tone. "Did you tell Masson about getting married soon?"

"I did. And he is not even letting me have the Monday after the fifteenth off. We won't get a honeymoon break. Oh well...I'll make the best of that weekend, I suppose."

"It's ridiculously unfair. You should demand a raise, Jean!"

"Luc, I can't. I don't want to make waves. Masson fires people for lesser things. Last year, he fired a worker for asking to be allowed to go fetch well water down the street when his canteen ran out. Everybody was hot and thirsty. But Masson himself takes off and goes to the cafe for a glass of wine!"

"Damn him!" whispered Luc, checking to see if the boss was around. He wasn't. "By the way, Masson hasn't invited the Marquis here to observe our progress since summer. I wonder if he'll come by and admire our handiwork soon."

"You still thinking about that Marquis' daughter?" Jean asked, laughing a little.

"Sometimes," Luc replied with a smirk. "Haven't been as lucky in love as you."

"You're invited to our wedding that Saturday. Maybe you could get to know Clémence's cousins. Her sister is married, but she has two cousins who are very nice young ladies."

"I won't miss it, Jean! I just can't take a sip of beer or wine without it burning my mouth. Can't understand why. I _used_ to be able to drink," said Luc in frustration.

"Maybe you should see a doctor about it. Sounds like a disease," Jean replied, trying to be helpful. "You know, you need to be careful not to get too close to people. There's another outbreak of smallpox in the city. Pierre has it now, that's why he's gone. It's going around my block. I'm deathly afraid of getting that disease-"

"I think I have a disease in the _brain,_ come to think of it," Luc interrupted. "Think I'm going crazy."

"Hope it's not _me_ driving you crazy," Jean joked.

"No, it's not you," Luc replied, laughing a little. He was thinking of those recurring dreams he kept having.

"You can always talk to me if you need to," said Jean, trying to be encouraging.

Luc's dreams were as vivid as ever and had become more bizarre. Now, whenever sleep overtook him he was taken to a strange world, with a beast.

A giant, horned beast, with auburn fur and eyes just like a man's. Luc dreamed of himself trying to kill the creature with an arsenal of weapons, but it leapt over rooftops and fought him back, threatening to throw him off a high precipice. Their battle always took place on the rooftops of some grand building, like a castle.

A pretty young woman Luc had never met before, with long brown hair, intelligent brown eyes, and a delicate, petite build, was somehow angry with him. She broke his set of arrows, and was even defending the creature. At one point, Luc lost his gun and was determined to retrieve it…

"Are you okay, Luc?"

He shook the dream out of his head, trying to pull himself back to waking life. "Fine, Jean. Just fine. Let's get back to work, it's a minute until one."

Masson arrived from down the street, and nodded in approval at the group of men climbing their ladders and scaffolds, gathering bricks and making the walls higher.

...

One Saturday morning in the cool of autumn, Luc arrived alone to the chapel in Jean's neighborhood for his friend's wedding. It was a small, simple affair, filled with Jean's and Clémence's family members. The minister declared the couple married after thirty minutes of Scripture readings and exchanging tender vows. Jean and Clémence kissed chastely after their pronouncement, and Luc couldn't help but feel a little envious of the kind of love they obviously shared.

He pondered how Jean could be so in love with plain, little Clémence. She wasn't that striking to look at. But of course, the small and boyish Jean wasn't that striking either, so they matched. And the girl could cook and clean, so she had _some_ use.

Afterward, as many relatives crowded into Jean's parents' apartment as they could, while the overflow of people gathered at the front steps of the building. They each took a glass of celebratory wine, giving the young couple their congratulations as Jean and Clémence sat together on the steps. Clémence wore her best red-and-white floral dress and bonnet, and Jean wore his best grey coat. Jean's two little brothers approached Luc and asked if he would play with them. So he took a few minutes to roll hoops with the two boys along the sidewalk. He recalled rolling hoops as a boy himself, but the memory was vague.

After playing with the boys, Luc rejoined the party. He took a glass of wine, smelled it, and made a brave attempt to put his tongue on the liquid. The much-anticipated burning pain, however small, caused him to suck in a breath, causing the glass to shake and spill a little. Making a face, he set it down, hoping no one had noticed. When he went back outside to the family members gathered on the steps, Jean introduced Luc to his new cousins-in-law.

The two young ladies were named Emilie and Adelaide. Both were happy to meet Luc, and he felt glad to receive some female admiration while he had the time off to engage them back. He boasted about the grandness of the partially-constructed hotel, and his own strength being the main reason for its quick progress.

While he spoke, he wondered if these girls were _worth_ spending time with. Neither girl was beautiful. Emilie fared worse; the poor girl's face was dotted with irregular brown spots, and they weren't the cute freckles that Luc liked on girls. They were unsightly scars. She had straight brown hair tucked into a bonnet, and a thin figure with no apparent bosom.

Adelaide, on the other hand, had a buxom chest beneath her snug-fitting, corseted calico dress, but was a bit on the chubby side. She had a prettier face than Emilie's, though, with a smooth complexion and brown curls cascading from her bonnet. She quietly listened to him in admiration. Pock-faced little Emilie kept interrupting Luc's charming monologue with giggles and questions of _'Really?_ ' and _'It must be grand!'_ and _'You must be so strong!'_ If she'd looked better, it would have made him feel on top of the world. But the way she was, she slightly annoyed him.

Luc decided that he might as well find a way to get with Adelaide- the more tolerable of the two- alone. If he could invite her over for a quick carriage ride this afternoon while Aunt Agathe was off at the market, he might be able to seduce her to his closet-sized bedroom. She was definitely 'fling' material if she were up for some fun.

"Adelaide," Luc said airily, casually putting his hands in his waistcoat pockets. He thrust out his chest, trying to look dashing. "Have you ever been to the riverside by park? The maples are turning their autumn colors."

"We have," she replied in enthusiasm. "Emilie and I both work as lady's maids at a noblewoman's chateau. Sometimes if we're lucky, we get to come along with Their Ladyships to serve them at their parties and picnics on the Seine. It's great fun and beautiful fresh air!"

"Would you like to go there with _me_ today, Adelaide?" he asked her with a grin, turning his shoulder away from Emilie so she'd take the hint. "I can hail a cab."

Adelaide smiled joyously. Emilie gave the two a hurt look.

"I'm going to help Jean's mother clean up the kitchen. It was nice to meet you, Monsieur," Emilie said in a lowered voice, trying to gain some dignity. She walked away as fast as she could, all of her giggly enthusiasm gone.

Adelaide gave Luc a disappointed frown. "That wasn't very nice. You were rude. You invited only me, while brushing her aside," she said in a lowered tone.

Luc shrugged. "So? Her loud laughing grates on my ears. She should just _listen_ , like a good woman ought to. Like, well... _you_ , for example."

Adelaide looked indignant. "She's my sister. She's been through a lot this year. She caught smallpox and I thought she was going to _die_ at one point! She's better now and was having a wonderful time today, at least until you asked me out in front of her. She's sensitive and gets hurt easily."

Luc glanced at the door where Emilie had left and made an affected face, pouting his lip out. "Sorry."

"You said 'a good woman only listens to you?' What if _we_ want to say something? That's so... _boorish_ ," Adelaide said, giving him a look of judgment.

"I sincerely apologize. Is there anything I can do to make amends?"

"You could have asked us _both_ out for a ride to the river. I'd love to go, but my father won't approve of a man asking me to go to another part of the city alone."

Luc was trying to hide his annoyance. "Is your father here?"

"Oui. He's over there, the bigger man next to Jean's father. I can't go with you without permission. Maybe I will if you act decent, and Papa says yes."

Luc gave her a determined little smirk. "Very well. I shall approach him immediately to ask."

He caught her eyes twinkling in mirth, and a smile she was trying to fight.

 _She wants me, all right! Boorish manners aside, she still wants to be alone with the dashing and manly Luc Avenant! She can't deny it!_ he thought as he sauntered over to the elder Monsieur Paquet and the man Adelaide had pointed out.

"Bonjour!" Luc said, politely trying to butt into their conversation. "Nice to see you again, Monsieur Paquet. And Monsieur-"

"Fortier," replied the sisters' father. "I am the bride's uncle."

"Monsieur Fortier, it is good to meet you. I was wondering I could take your two lovely daughters- or perhaps just _one_ of them- for a cab ride to the river to see the gardens in this lovely autumn season. Only with your permission, of course." He smiled his best charming smile.

The man gave Luc a look of scrutiny. "Are you a relative of Jean's?"

"I am his co-worker. I'm a stonemason building the Hotel with him. Jean's become a good friend. He makes work pleasant with his company, and I'm glad to have him by my side during the long hours," Luc explained graciously.

M. Fortier nodded in approval, taking in Luc's strong form, decently clean outfit of clothes, and honest, confident manner. He must have decided that Luc would make a decent suitor for one of his girls.

"Actually, I would prefer to invite you to dinner tonight with my wife and both of our daughters," he replied. " _Before_ taking either of them on any outings."

Luc fought to keep the smile with such force that the corners of his mouth stung. Just _how_ many hoops he would have to jump through in order for the chance to touch even a _semi-attractive_ woman, and one of humble status at that?

Perhaps it would be better to forget all this finagling, and head to the tavern to engage a cute barmaid. His physical, carnal thirst needed quenching soon. He wasn't sure he wanted to sit through a boring dinner with Adelaide, her parents, and her unfortunate-looking younger sister. It would be a waste of the only evening he could stay out late.

Even Adelaide, the better looking of the two, simply wasn't attractive enough for him to play the courtship game. He only wanted her for a _night_ , to be perfectly honest. He was getting desperate. So after politely giving M. Fortier the excuse that he had to head 'home to his sick aunt,' he went back to shake Jean's hand and compliment his bride.

"Congratulations, Jean, and Clémence- your lovely bride," he said. "I must be going now."

" _Merci,_ Luc! I'm so glad you made it!" replied the joyful groom.

Luc gave Clémence a chaste kiss on her cheek, and he caught a slight blush forming on it. _Perhaps I shouldn't have done_ _that_ , he thought as he walked away. Tonight, she would likely be dreaming of Luc with her eyes closed while poor Jean fumbled with her in the dark, awkward as ever.

He laughed at that amusing mental image as he swaggered off. He began meandering down the street, on the prowl for amusement. He decided on a whim to find that one establishment downtown, the one on Boulevard du Temple. Other men on the work crew had talked about it, even saved money for the fun to be had there.

He found it after walking four city blocks. Eschewing a beer or wine, Luc gazed at the flirting groups of people in the candle-lit club, both old and young. He could recognize the girls selling themselves very easily; their dress and demeanor was unlike any normal, proper woman. They weren't here just to serve drinks. These women lived with the risk of murder and disease, and the breezy confidence and street smarts that came with the luxury of not caring what proper Paris society thought of them.

In less than ten minutes, a comely girl, her brown curls piled atop her head and pink flesh bursting from her tightly laced dress- sashayed over with a rouge-cheeked smile.

"Good evening, Monsieur. I do hope you plan to stay. I'm staking my claim upon you, in fact," she greeted him in a low, flirtatious tone. She wore a great deal of lipstick, and Luc could smell her _eau de parfum_ wafting from her beribboned neck.

"I'll stay as long as sixty livres allow me to," he quipped.

It was nearly two days' pay, but tonight, he was a gambling man. Games of poker were being played among the fellows in the corner tables. He could possibly win some of it back.

"Come down the hallway," she said, grasping his hand with one of hers while holding her other palm out in expectation.

Luc handed her nearly half the money he'd made that week, and she led him into a hallway which led to some stairs. The stairs led to a suite of rooms. She opened the door to a tiny dark room and struck a candle, then walked back to him with a welcoming smile.

He didn't waste any time grabbing her and tugging on the bosom of her dress. He was just beginning to kiss the nape of her fragrant neck, his hand reaching beneath her bodice with rough fingers- when he was overcome with excruciating pain.

"AAAGHH!" he screamed, doubling over and clutching his groin. He crumpled to the floor, the pain about to make him pass out.

The woman stepped back in shock. "What's wrong? Monsieur? What did I _do_?" She watched him writhe in agony for a moment, stunned, before running back down to find someone who knew of a doctor.

Luc lay there, groaning, wincing, and rolling on the floor. He felt as if he were being cut or flayed with a knife. He called out to a merciful God for it to stop.

After about five minutes, the pain began to subside. He lay in a fetal position on the hard wooden floor, seeing stars swimming before his eyeballs as he caught his breath, trying to recover. Two men entered, led by the saloon girl.

"Monsieur?"

"I think I'm better now." Luc stood up, feeling half-dizzy. "Keep the money, mademoiselle. Just a little sick, that's all. Nice to meet you. _Adieu._ "

...

"How was the wedding, dear?" Aunt Agathe asked him sweetly that night.

"Oh, it was fine. A simple, nice, family wedding." He nodded at her several times, a faked smile on his face.

"You don't seem that happy. What's wrong? Is it still the disappointment about joining the Army?"

"Part of it, I guess...sure."

"You seem frustrated about something," she commented as she sipped her tea.

He shrugged, looking down at his boots.

"You need a good woman, dear," Agathe pressed. "I was hoping you might have met some nice young ladies at your friend's wedding."

He stayed silent, scowling down at the floor with a vacant stare.

"I want you to understand that you aren't indebted to me the rest of my life. If you want to marry, that is all right. Aloysius has always offered to care for me if you decide to leave. Please don't think I'm hindering or trapping you here."

"Oh, no!" Luc said, snapping his head up to look at her. "I don't think that at all."

"I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you," she said quietly. "Have you been feeling ill?"

"Perhaps." He averted her gaze again.

"Have you seen a doctor? Because the sooner you find out, the better. Remember your dear parents."

"I can handle it. Just a little pain once in a while."

"Where does it hurt?"

"A few times it was my mouth, a burning when I tried to drink something. And the other time...never mind." He began to stand up and head to bed.

"So it's the disease of sin?" she called out to him, her tone firm. "Because if it is, you _must_ stop whatever you are doing! Fornication causes a disease called syphilis, and it's slow, painful and shameful!"

"Good night," he said irritably, slamming his door.

When he was out of her sight, Agathe took out her Magic Mirror and replayed Luc's entire day at the wedding and his adventure downtown. She wondered how long she would have to wait for this man to come to humility, and learn to think of others' feelings rather than himself. At least he had started controlling his violent tendencies. He had not been in a fight or physically hurt anyone.

She saw that he'd behaved outwardly well today, for the most part. Yet she was able to pick up on Luc's inner thoughts and motivations, his rejections of _both_ the girls. And when he'd told Agathe he didn't feel she was trapping him in his life, it was a blatant lie.

She heard his inner voice while he'd spoken the opposite out loud. _'The old hag needs to drop_ _dead!'_

It was Prince Adam all over again, without the trappings of wealth and prestige. Even in a humbled life as a common laborer, Gaston Legume's nature and temperament was completely selfish, shallow, vain, and deceitful.

When she was certain that Luc was sleeping, Agathe put her hands on her temples and fought back tears of despair and regret. Aloysius was right. They could go on for years, possibly decades, like this. Until 'Luc Avenant' eventually succumbed after an inevitable life of foolishness, maybe even self-destruction like before.

She could hear Luc tossing and turning, mumbling in his sleep. He was dreaming of his old life, she knew. Agathe had forgotten to alter his memories completely. She decided she would not take his dream life and subconscious memories away. They could help somehow.

Luc awoke the next morning to a splitting headache. He felt feverish, achy, exhausted, and chilled, even though Agathe had started a fire.

"Aunt Agathe-" he mumbled weakly.

She walked in and saw that he wasn't well. She reached down and felt his forehead; it was almost the temperature of a cooked potato. Agathe knew she did not cause this. Unlike the groin pain and the burning mouth, this _wasn't_ from the curse. Somehow, he had come down with whatever ailment was common among the _Sans-Magies._

She immediately went to Aloysius for help. She found him in his apartment down the street, the one whose interior he had magically upgraded into another fine parlour.

"Aloysius- you have to help Luc and I. Luc is very sick and it was not from the curse!"

"All right. I can find a _Sans-Magie_ doctor. I know one nearby."

"I thought you could heal him? You are a healer!"

"I could, yes, but let's wait this out. Let us find out what exactly he is suffering from."

"You just want to let him die, don't you?" Agathe accused him.

"No. I never said that!" replied the magical man. "I don't want him to die. But if he does, promise me you'll _stop_ casting curses to reform selfish and nasty mortal men! You can stay with me, in my fine home. You can have a life of your _own_ , for once. How long did you have to live as a beggar lady in that little village?"

"It was _worth_ it," Agathe argued back in indignation. "Seeing true love develop is _always_ worth it!"

"Seeing love develop for you, is just like the blessings I want to give, I suppose," said Aloysius. "That is why I don't mind giving out those apples at the fruit stand. Anyone hungry enough to accept one is fortunate. The apples are infused with charmed potion. I've saved countless lives."

"What _is_ it with you and apples, Aloysius?"

"I'm trying to make up for the evil committed by that ancestor of ours. The German noblewoman. She lived back in medieval times, was magical, and she made _poison_ apples."

"I'm so glad I have you here, dear cousin. Thank you," said Agathe, hugging the old man tearfully. The two undercover magical people rushed to seek out one of the neighborhood physicians.

A man called Dr. Jauquet finally came to the humble apartment and examined Luc, who was in a semi-sleeping state on the cot. He was bundled in quilts, shivering, and sweating buckets.

"Oh no! I am terribly sorry," the doctor mumbled to Agathe and Aloysius beneath a cloth he'd put over his face as a mask. "I'm almost certain that it's smallpox."

"What is smallpox?" asked Agathe.

"You must keep your distance. Wear something over your face if you come near him," he said grimly.

Agathe and Aloysius looked at each other in concern. Agathe gave her cousin a silent, pleading look.

...


	8. Afflicted

Chapter 8- Afflicted

...

Luc lay in his cot in the apartment in agony, as illness and fever ravaged him. He slept for most of the first day, dreamless and coma-like. When he awakened the next, he felt his mouth and tongue full of sores, a rash spreading over his body.

Agathe brought him water and tried to keep him as comfortable as she could, with pillows and blankets that Cousin Aloysius provided. When he refused any of the breakfast she offered, she finally took a break from trying to nurse her 'nephew' and went over to Aloysius' place.

"The _Sans-Magie_ doctor called it 'smallpox,'" Aloysius said to her when she arrived. "And the symptoms sound very much like the pox disease _our_ people get. About three hundred years ago, a sorceress created a potion which is supposed to cure it. I don't have all the ingredients to make it myself. My book says that you need powdered dragon's tooth, but there is none of it in supply here in France. I need to go to England to acquire some. I could be back in a few hours, but it will take a day or two to brew the potion."

"Aloysius, I don't think this is the same kind of pox, though. This is a _Sans-Magie_ disease," said Agathe.

Aloysius raised his bushy, grey eyebrows. "Agathe! What about your powerful _Remonter le Temps_ spell? It reversed the deaths of both Gaston and Prince Adam. In addition, it made the castle servants alive and human again by your reversing of time on their bodies while keeping natural time on the rest of the world. Could you try that? Could you reverse time on his body until you reach the point where he contracted the pox?"

Agathe gave him a pondering look. "I don't know the exact time he caught the disease. I could look into my Mirror to look back at his every move, see every person he came in contact with, but diseases are caused by tiny things. Unseen by the eye. _Sans-Magies_ are still unaware of these things, but they will learn someday, and soon. Many of them are intelligent. At any rate, I would not be able to detect in the Mirror the moment when the tiny creatures invaded Luc's bloodstream. However, I can _still_ cast _Remonter le Temps_ and reverse time on his body for about two weeks and see if it helps."

"You could. It is worth a try, isn't it?"

"I remember something," Agathe pondered. "There was a girl he met the other day, who also had smallpox. I had been listening in on the conversation with my Mirror. Her sister had told Luc that she had it, but she'd recovered on her own and survived! I don't believe he caught it from her, though, since she looked healthy and recovered. All that remained were the pox scars on her face. If I can locate and watch over that young woman, I may have a better understanding of it."

Agathe had left her Mirror at home. She held out her magic wand and retrieved it with a simple command of " _Accès_." When it appeared in her hand, Aloysius moved to look into it along with her. "I hope you do not hold the soul of a person within your Mirror," he commented.

"No! Of course I don't. Why do you think that?"

"Legend has it that the evil noblewoman who was our ancestor captured the soul of one of her dead loyal servants within her Magic Mirror. So that he could still talk to her."

"I can't believe anyone could have done such a terrible thing," said Agathe.

"When she died, he was set free. Or so I've read in magical history."

"Interesting, Aloysius," Agathe said. She focused on the Mirror. "Show me the girl with the pox scars, the one whom Luc met at his friend's wedding party!"

...

Emilie and Adelaide were at work, serving in the chateau of the Marquis de Brumagne. They were in the quarters of Lady Evangeline as usual, tending to her every whim.

"I need my hair at least two inches higher, Adelaide! It's still too flat!" Evangeline complained as she gazed into her own elaborately framed mirror. A cushioned stool lay in front of her vanity, but Evangeline was dressed in a stiffly crinolined and hooped green ballgown and so was unable to sit.

Emilie sat nearby, mending a torn sleeve on one of Evangeline's day dresses. Her job was to wash and mend Evangeline's clothing. Adelaide's was to do her hair and makeup. Both sisters were in a state of contented joy, because Emilie had survived her smallpox months before. Every moment of life felt like a gift to both of them.

Adelaide cheerfully undid Evangeline's blonde, curled coiffure and brushed her hair again, lifting the tresses off her forehead as high she could, tying and securing her pompadour with green ribbon and placing the bow a bit higher on her head.

"This is the best I can do, Your Ladyship. If _only_ they could invent some sort of spray someday, to make hair stiff, and stay in place! But until that glorious day-" Adelaide smiled at Her Ladyship's image in the mirror behind her- "a girl needs charm and poise! And I must say you have _plenty_ of that!"

"Charm and poise?" Evangeline said, pouting her ruby lips.

"And beauty!" Adelaide said. "Your face is so lovely, the gentlemen will not _notice_ that your hair isn't quite as high as Princess Louise's."

" _Merci_ ," said Evangeline, beaming at the mirror and smoothing her gown. "I suppose I'm ready to go to the cotillion to meet again with my hopeful suitor. Louis Jean-Baptiste, Prince of Normandy. He's the second wealthiest Prince in France."

"The second wealthiest? Who's the first?" asked Adelaide.

"Prince Adam of Alsace and Lorraine. I cannot _believe_ the scandal surrounding that man," she said in a hushed tone.

"What scandal?" Adelaide asked. Emilie looked up from her sewing, listening intently.

"He married a commoner! Some random girl from a village. It seemed like he had vanished from the face of the earth for a long time. Papa and I had forgotten about him until this last summer. Then, all of a sudden, we get his wedding invitation! He never took the time to come here to Paris, and to Versailles, to attend balls and meet more suitable candidates for a bride. Namely, _moi!_ "

Evangeline fluttered her hand towards herself. "Instead of a proper bride search, he just married some village girl last month. Father and I received the invitation in August. We didn't attend, of course. Some of my relatives and friends went, and they couldn't believe the atrocity of the so-called 'royal wedding.'"

"What was so bad about it?" asked Adelaide.

"It was... _extremely_ scandalous and improper. Adam had his _servants_ running the show, rather than take authority upon himself. They had everyone dancing folk dances, and they ruined the minuet! There were hundreds of village peasants as guests, trying to dance the minuet and making fools of themselves. Adam let them dance the way they were used to. There were men dancing with men, girls dancing with girls, servants' and villagers' small children underfoot making messes- so common and vulgar!"

"It sounds like a wonderful wedding to me," said Emilie after a long time of listening quietly. She was so insecure about her face, she didn't like to draw attention to herself. She cringed when Evangeline looked at her for a brief second and was relieved when she didn't make a disgusted expression. She was too absorbed in telling her story.

"And that was not all," Evangeline continued. "Adam and his bride made these ridiculous speeches at their reception, where he declared new laws on his province. He lowered his taxes on the people." She wrinkled her nose. "What a fool. I'm almost relieved now that I wasn't chosen by him."

Emilie and Adelaide caught each other's eye and smiled. Poor Evangeline. It was truly a case of 'sour grapes' to hear her complain on and on about the fabulously wealthy Prince, whom she never had the chance to catch.

"I must go. It is almost one o'clock, and Martin is surely at the door to take us to our carriage. _Adieu,_ ladies. You can have the rest of the day off. Just don't tell Father or Monsieur Auguste that I've become so lenient."

" _Merci_ , Your Ladyship!" said Emilie.

"Have a wonderful time!" said Adelaide, as the two watched her sweep out of her room and down the staircase in her voluminous gown. When she was gone, the lady's maids looked at each other, then longingly at the makeup and hair supplies at the vanity table.

"No, we mustn't. Don't even think about it, Adelaide. We should just go out for a walk, or help Madame Marie with making tea," said Emilie.

"She won't notice if a little makeup is missing. Why not let me do your face, Emilie? Here, have a seat. I have my own hairbrushes, so we won't use hers anyway."

"My face is ruined. It's not worth any of it...it's no use," Emilie said, tears welling in her eyes. Before she could control herself, she saw her own reflection in the mirror from her spot on the settee, with its constellation of pox scars. She covered her face with her hands and all the joy, all the gladness of still being alive and having this coveted job in the grand chateau- vanished. She let out a few muffled sobs, and immediately hated herself for it.

Adelaide rushed to her sister to hug her. "Oh, Emilie, please...let me help-"

"I'm so selfish...I should be glad! I know. I could be dead, but I'm alive. I'm well, and healthy, and I have you and Maman and Papa, and I get to work here. Beauty isn't important. I- I was never the pretty girl anyway."

"You are a beautiful person, Emilie, with a beautiful soul. I just want to try something. A little powder, and some of this cream- it will cover up the spots and help you feel better. I know it bothers you so much, the way you avoid mirrors-"

"It isn't just that. People- even children- avoid me. They take one look and make a funny face. Like I'm a leper, or a monster...not a girl. As if I'm not even human," She covered her face in her hands, and sobs racked her petite body.

Adelaide, feeling helpless, went to get a cloth on the table and dipped it in the cold water that Evangeline had used to wash her face before having her makeup done earlier. In an almost maternal gesture, she removed her younger sister's hands from her face and dabbed it with the cloth.

"Please, Emilie? Please let me put a little of Evangeline's makeup on you, to see how it works? It might make you feel better. Evangeline is gone the rest of the day! We can have a nice, quiet afternoon and evening off, and go home to see Maman and Papa tonight."

"I just wish..." Emilie couldn't finish her sentence. The wish was childish. Tears coursed down her scarred cheeks.

Adelaide stroked her sister's shoulders. "Please don't cry, _ma petite_...you're alive and well. Just breathe, and smell the lovely fall air. Look at the trees getting their autumn colors outside. Life is still good."

Emilie stopped crying, and took a long, deep breath. "All right...you can. Only to make you happy. And only use a little bit of her makeup, so we don't get in trouble." She sat down upon the cushioned stool Adelaide pointed to, and raised her head to look at her reflection.

"You're no 'monster,' Emilie." Adelaide said, dipping her finger in the fancy porcelain jar and taking a tiny bit of light ivory-peach colored cream from it. "At least hers matches your lighter skin tone. You know I saved up twenty livres to buy a little jar of my own, which is a few shades darker. I have some on now. Can you tell?"

"No. But you don't need it, anyway." said Emilie.

"I have scars, too, from all the pimples I used to get when I was younger. Remember? This makes them disappear like magic," Adelaide said.

"I guess that's true...you had some little scars, but I never really noticed. Now your skin is perfect."

"Looks perfect, that doesn't mean it is!" Adelaide laughed as she went to work, dabbing her finger all over Emilie's face, the makeup like paint and her sister's face like a canvas. She smoothed it all over Emilie's small chin, forehead, and cheeks. She then took a second small dollop, dabbing and smoothing and applying some powder to Emilie's face with a tickly brush.

"It's working! It looks more like it used to!" Emilie exclaimed. She _did_ look better, at least temporarily.

"See? I _love_ makeup! Now, you need some rouge. Please let me put just a little bit of rouge on! And perhaps some kohl for around your eyes- to bring them out!"

"But we'll get in trouble. She might notice some is missing from the jars!"

"She never notices. She never looks at the jars of makeup like I do. She's too busy admiring her own reflection and listening to me praise her. Besides, she's rich. She doesn't worry about her things running out, because there's always plenty more to be bought."

"All right. Just for now."

Ten minutes later, Adelaide had applied four kinds of makeup to Emilie's face, and combed her hair with her own brush and fixed it up into a chignon. "You like?"

"Yes! I do like it!" Emilie was certainly cheered up by now. She looked nice, even close to pretty. The kohl made her brown eyes look more striking, and made her eyelashes visible. The rouge made her pale skin more rosy, and her pox scars were mostly concealed.

"What should we do now? We have hours until we have to go home," Emilie said with uncertainty. "I still need to finish my sewing."

"Let's go down to visit the kitchen staff. I'll help Madame Marie with tea, and you finish your sewing at the dining table. The Master, Mistress, and Evangeline are all out, so it will be only us and the other servants. Almost like a holiday," said Adelaide.

The two sisters went down and enjoyed the rest of the day with the servants whom they were friendly with. Emilie appreciated the compliments on her appearance, even though she knew it was temporary and the compliments would stop tomorrow. Still, she was happy in Adelaide's presence, as well as that of Madame Marie and Chef Bernard, who was baking pastries and made the kitchen smell wonderful. They drank tea and ate and visited together, and when evening came they walked happily home to their parents' house, back in their modest neighborhood.

The girls rushed upstairs to wash up for bed before their parents could see them with makeup. They knew that their father would chastise them, saying such frivolities were a terrible waste of their hard-earned money. Emilie felt a little guilty defying them, but Adelaide- who spent more of her salary than she ought to on cosmetics- said that as long as she stayed unmarried and earned her own money, she would decide for herself how to spend it.

"Using cosmetics is fun. It's my _job_ for goodness' sake, and it makes _me_ happy," she explained before they went to sleep.

"You don't put it on for men?" Emilie asked.

"No. I wear it because I like it. If I had a husband, he'd see me without it. Good night, Emilie. I love you, sister."

"I love you too."

...

"Lovely, noble ladies, the both of them are," said Aloysius as the mirror faded. "Noble not in the definition of the _world_ , of course, but with noble hearts. I like them."

"I do, too. I'd like to actually meet them," said Agathe. "They _deserve_ a magical charm, or a spell of blessing, especially the one who survived smallpox. Do you have anything in your bag of tricks? You must have some potion to make that girl's scars go away for good."

"There you go again," Aloysius said with a laugh. "You always think we have to meddle in people's lives. Constantly saving and helping the non-magicals from their natural fates. Why don't you wait on this for a while? See what happens with Luc. If that small girl can survive, he can."

"I'll wait. For a little longer. Because I wonder if this will be the ultimate punishment for his vanity, if he ends up with scars. I am not sure how he will handle it."

"Likely not too well, with the amount of self-pride he has. This young woman we saw, Emilie, had always been humble. It would be much more of a travesty to someone like Luc, or Gaston, or whatever it is you want to call him."

"Luc. Do not ever call him 'Gaston.' He knows nothing of that name...unless it comes up in his dreams," Agathe told Aloysius pensively.

...

For weeks, Luc was very sick and hellishly miserable. He developed a rash all over his body, with horrible pustules that erupted on his skin, including his face. He asked over and over again for something to 'make this go away,' bitter and angry and worried he would lose his job if gone too long.

Agathe gave him a drink, a sort of cider from apples infused with sleeping potion which Aloysius had brewed. Luc drank it heartily, for it tasted like apple ale but without the alcohol. He was able to sleep through the nights and most of the mornings as well, being miserably awake in the afternoons and evenings. Agathe implored him to eat at least something every day. She also washed and cleaned his stricken skin twice a day with warm soapy water, something he was grateful for. His old aunt was a caring nurse. He worried that she could also get it, but she insisted she would not and never told him why. He felt guilty for how he'd resented her before.

Jean Paquet stopped at the door of the building a few times to get updates. Agathe liked the young man. He was genuinely worried and concerned that his friend would die. He kept to a distance, worried about catching it. He never went up to the apartment.

About a month later, as winter set in and the people of Paris were enjoying the novelty of snow, Luc's fever had gone but he was extremely weak. He asked for a mirror, but Agathe would not give him one. The remnants of the pox still covered his body and face, but now they were scabbed over and as they began healing, they left indented spots. He hoped and prayed that they would go away. That this nightmare would finally be done, and he would be well and whole and look good again and be able to leave the apartment. If he didn't, he would curse God and try to find a way to end his own life. He could _not_ exist like this.

Jean and Clémence came by with food one day after the month had passed. When Jean finally came into Luc's room to see him, he was shocked at the sight of his strong and hard working friend, lying on a cot with a ghastly rash of spots on his face and arms, looking so deathly tired and weak.

"Jean," Luc whispered hoarsely.

"I'm so glad you are...alive. You...you don't look so good," Jean said, trying to conceal his horrified expression. It was such a scary disease; he did not want to get it and was afraid to step closer.

"My aunt won't give me a mirror to look in. I know it's because I must look like absolute hell!"

"To be honest, Luc, you do. But...you're _alive_!"

"Damn!" Luc swore, his eyes bloodshot and misting over. He clapped his hand over them, squeezng them shut. "My life is over. I hardly feel alive at all. I'd rather not be-"

"Luc, don't say that! Snap out of it. You _will_ get better. And it turns out that Masson has a heart after all. He says if you recover from this, as soon as you are up to it, you will get your job back! He hired a temporary man, but he's nowhere near as good as you."

"He's better than me now." Luc's voice was a choked whisper.

"Do you remember Emilie, Clémence's relative who was at our wedding? She is recovered from the smallpox and is now healthy and fit as a fiddle, working as a lady's maid for nobility."

"But she has scars."

"A lot of people do. And you have a lot of life left in you, _mon ami._ Please. Cheer up. Clémence brought some food."

"Aren't I contagious? You seem to keep your distance," Luc sneered bitterly.

Jean drew a tiny step closer. "It's been a month. If you got through the worst of it, you will improve. I miss you at work, Luc. Even your bragging and your off-color jokes."

Luc rolled his eyes. "You miss me? You miss the _old_ me." He shook his head, and felt his cheek and forehead again, those ghastly marks. He wanted to scratch his skin off.

"You are still you, no matter what. And I'll always be your friend...please come back to us someday."

"I can't," Luc whispered, turning his head to look at the cracked wall where a spider was crawling nearby. Over the long weeks of his quarantine, the little brown spiders seemed to be his only companions when Agathe was not around. He didn't mind them. He almost wished he were one. A lowly, tiny creature, easily crushed. He hoped even more that a poisonous one would bite him, since the smallpox failed to do him in.

It was all over. Everything in his existence that mattered, everything he had, was completely, utterly _over_.

"Luc...do you remember that beautiful Marquis' daughter? It's _her_ that Clémence's two cousins are lady's maids for, you know that? If you get well, maybe you'll see her again. The grand opening of the hotel has been delayed a little, partly because of you being out sick. But the Marquis and his family will be there, and-"

" _Please leave_!" Luc hissed, his eyes fixed away from Jean and at the spider on the wall.

"Luc-"

" _Go_!" The stricken man was blinking back tears, to Jean's horror. He might not make it after all, he feared. Part of recovery was mental, not physical, and his friend might will himself to die.

"I'm sorry...I'll go now," Jean said, backing away and turning out of the room, closing the door quietly. Luc lay there in despair, listening to Jean apologize to Agathe, his new wife telling Agathe she was pleased to meet her, the two taking their leave. Agathe, in the main room, stayed quiet knowing not to disturb him. His tiny room became dimmer and dimmer until it turned dark. Agathe came in and urged him to drink some of the apple cider to sleep better.

Through the night, he found an escape through pleasant dream episodes. Exciting war battles. Girls giving him smiles and flirty looks. That stout little fellow again, telling him he looked perfect, magnificent, a 'paragon.'

There came a more disturbing twist in the dream. A fire, torches, people angry and riled up and out to kill someone. That same strange, lovely girl with the long brown hair reappeared, confronting him in anger and giving him a piercing glare.

 _"He's no monster, Gaston! You are!"_

He woke mid-morning, back in reality. His body was still dead tired, and worse yet, the pox scars remained on his skin. He would look like a spotted freak for the rest of his life. A monster, like the dream girl said.

He stared at the ceiling, confused. _Who in the hell is Gaston?_

In the adjoining room, Agathe was worried. She wanted so much to cast her powerful reversing spell to make him better again, just like she had done for Prince Adam and the servants. Unlike the Beast spell, though, Luc's affliction was caused by nature through no fault of his own. She never planned on this happening. Yet, she willed herself to wait.

...

 _A.N.- Sorry for the wait on this chapter, and sorry for the shameless Harry Potter Easter Eggs I keep putting in this story. This chapter is full of Easter Eggs and different references (like Snow White. CarolNJoy, you're right!) I think I do this just to entertain myself when a chapter is particularly hard to craft. This was such a dark and depressing chapter for Luc. I hope the references give it at least a little levity for the reader. -Civilwarrose_


	9. Emilie

Chapter 9- Emilie

…

Jean and Clémence Paquet knocked on the door of the Fortier family's home, which was near their own place. They knew that the two sisters didn't work at the Marquis de Brumagne's estate on Sundays, and hoped to see them.

Adelaide opened the door to greet them. "Clémence! Jean! Come in! Would you like me to make some tea?"

"It's all right, Addie," said Clémence to her cousin cheerfully. "I know you both must be heading to work soon."

"Actually, we have a whole four days off!" Adelaide said with pleasure. "The Marquis and their Ladyships Marie-Juliette and Evangeline are on a trip to Versailles. They are going to spend some time at Prince Louis' villa, and even have a visit with the King and Queen themselves! It would have been exciting to come, but they didn't need us."

"I'm glad you have time off, at least," said Clémence. "If you had gone with them, would you have had to endure Evangeline's gossip about the royal families, and spend _hours_ getting her prepared to present herself to them! You wouldn't have had a moment of peace."

"You're right," Adelaide laughed.

"Is Emilie home?" asked Jean, a tense expression on his face. "I'd like to talk to her."

"Yes, she's home," said Adelaide. She went in to fetch her sister. Emilie was sitting on her bed, a sketchpad in hand. She was drawing random pictures of birds, copying them from a book which lay on her lap. As her sister came in, she pulled her white ruffled cap lower on her face.

"Is company here?" she asked quietly.

"Clémence and Jean. Jean wants to talk to you. I like your drawings."

"Merci."

"So can you come out and speak to him?"

"I suppose," Emilie sighed, not too happy to see anyone, to be honest. On her days off, she preferred to be alone in her room. Alone - to daydream, draw pictures of flowers and birds and nature, and imagine a different life, where she could be someone other than who she was. Someone pretty, and normal, and admired. Even at work at Evangeline's, she preferred to sew clothing in a small parlor room alone, where she could withdraw into her own imaginative mind and forget that she was homely, scarred little Emilie Fortier.

She rose from her bed and set the sketchbook aside, following Adelaide into the family room. She gave Jean and Clémence a shy smile.

"Bonjour, Emilie. I need to ask you a favor," Jean said apologetically.

"A favor?"

"It's my friend. He caught smallpox and has been home suffering from it all this last month. I'm very worried about him. I was hoping that you could help him since you have a few days off. Go to his place and try to get him to eat and get his strength back. Like a nurse, I guess. His aunt has been taking care of him, but...well, he's not in a very good place right now. His poor aunt, she's got to be at _least_ seventy years old, she needs a break-"

"Sure. I could help him. I've already had it, so of course I can't catch it from him again. He's your friend?"

"You met him at our wedding. The tall fellow. Luc. Remember?"

Emilie's face tensed; a shadow of apprehension coming over her. "Oh... _him_?" she blurted out.

"Is something wrong?" Clémence asked.

"I- I don't know...I d-don't think he would want _me_ taking care of him...I'm wouldn't make a very good nurse, I...I-" she stammered, visibly shaking.

"Just for today? Please? I can fetch a cab and we can ride together. I can pay you! Ten livres."

Emilie stood there, tension and nerves wracking her body. The memory of that man, his face and manner, it triggered her despair. She certainly didn't want to see him again.

He'd been the handsomest and most charming man she had ever seen. At Clémence and Jean's wedding party, it was a bit of heaven on earth to just be standing a few meters away from him, listening to him talk about his work. His deep baritone voice, that amazing jawline accented with black stubble, those intense and passionate eyes! _Mon_ _Dieu_ …

Then, in the middle of their conversation, _just_ as she was under the influence of that glass of champagne, feeling 'bubbly' and chatty like her sister, about to work up the nerve to ask Luc Avenant where he grew up - he ignored her and asked Adelaide to take a carriage ride alone with him.

But Adelaide - her sweet, lovely big sister - turned him down. She had chosen compassion for her sister over the opportunity to date such a dreamy man!

Later that evening, Adelaide had told Emilie she'd 'dodged a bullet,' because Father had invited Luc to dine with the family, and Luc declined.

 _"He was bad news, Emilie, I could sense he was up to no good. A scoundrel, I'm sure! A man as good looking as HE is, asking out a woman like me for courtship? I'm not perfect, either. I'm not the type he wants. I've learned by now that some things are just too good to be true in this world."_

Emilie had looked at Adelaide when she said that. Despite being a bit thick in figure- though she was not a glutton- her sister was healthy looking and well endowed, with a pretty rosy face, and glossy, curled brown hair. Even _she_ couldn't get the man of her dreams. And that meant that Emilie- in her condition- could never dream of being loved by any man at _all_. Unless he was blind or elderly, perhaps...

"Emilie?" Clémence's soft voice took her out of her painful musings.

"Yes?"

"Emilie, I understand," Adelaide spoke, knowing the reason for her sister's hesitance. "I know you started out on the wrong foot with Luc. I know you don't want to see him. I didn't like his ignoring you or his motivations at the party, either! But you're the only other person Jean knows who's had smallpox and survived to health. It might make you feel better to get out and help someone else who's gone through what you did."

"How could I help someone like that?"

"I've never seen a man in his mental state before," said Jean. "Even though the smallpox ran its course, he wishes it killed him. Now he's refusing to eat so he can starve. I've tried to see him three times this week, and he hasn't changed. He's gotten worse. His aunt took all the kitchen knives and forks out so he wouldn't stab himself. He wants to die. Honestly it scares me."

"Is it really that bad?" Emilie asked. She put her palm to her cheek. "Does he have...the scarring, like me?"

"Yes. And that's his problem," Jean continued. "He is so used to having people admire him wherever he goes. When I met him last summer, I was almost _jealous_ of him for it, but now that I've known him for a few months, there's things about him that make me think he's well, a little-" Jean put a finger to his temple and twirled it around.

"You think he's _crazy_?" asked Adelaide.

Jean shook his head, realizing he'd made the wrong gesture. Adelaide wouldn't want her sister alone with a lunatic. "No, no! He just has a lot of _insecurity._ Needs a lot of attention, a hot temper. And now he lost his will to live. We've noticed that you can be happy sometimes, Emilie. He needs to hear from someone who knows where he's been."

"I'm really not happy at all. I try to...but it's hard. I was happy a moment ago, where I was alone in my room drawing. Now, you just reminded me again how lonely I'll always be! Except for you, Adelaide, and Maman and Papa."

Bitter tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned to go back to her room. She wanted to escape, get away from being reminded of reality, her smallpox scars, her dreary life.

"He's going to die if he keeps this up," she heard Jean quietly tell Clémence and Adelaide. "I don't know what else to do."

Emilie felt a tugging of conscience when she heard his words. Something out of her control urged her to turn around and go back to Jean and Clémence.

"All right. I'll go see him."

…

Luc was asleep, having another interesting dream.

He was a game hunter, riding a horse on a shady trail in an evergreen forest. He spotted the rack of a large elk, and was thrilled at the idea of taking it down. He shouldered a bow and released his arrow, piercing the stag elk in its heart, watching it fall. A feeling of triumph came over him - until he had to wake up…

"Dear, I made some porridge, with milk and sugar. Please sit up and try to eat something," Aunt Agathe said as she attempted once more to rouse the wasting figure on the straw cot. It was now nearing winter, and the apartment was chilly. Luc appeared to her as a lump beneath a woolen quilt.

"I stoked up a fire. It is much warmer in the sitting room...and it smells much more pleasant there as well," she added, hoping he'd come to life.

The corpse-like lump beneath the quilt moved slightly, indicating a live being beneath, but he didn't answer her.

"Luc, I am going to go away for awhile. I can't keep this up any more. I need to seek out some help to pay our rent and food, since you are still in an invalid state. There are people that I can go to. Charity organizations, the churches. So I'm going to leave you to the care of your friends. Jean said he would stop by today. Please be pleasant for him."

With that, she set his breakfast down before him and left his room. She made certain there was a fire ablaze in the hearth, and took her Magic Mirror from its hiding spot. With her Mirror in one hand, her magic wand in another, she vanished into thin air. A rushing wind caused the front door to slam.

Her destination was eastern France. Prince Adam and Princess Belle's castle, the village of Villeneuve, and the forested lands in between. Her old home.

…

When Luc heard the door shut and he was alone, hunger and chill won out over his self-induced hibernation. He threw the suffocating covers off his face, sat up, and ate breakfast for the first time in a week. He immediately hated the fact he'd weakened to hunger and gave in. Standing up, he stretched for a moment, then took the bowl to the next room to put in a basin. The desire to sit in front of the fireplace and warm up tempted him to stay out of bed.

For an hour or so, he stared at the crackling and popping flames. When they died down, he put on another log and stoked it with a poker that Agathe had still left in the hearthside. With the iron poker in hand, he considered for a moment whether it was sharp enough to pierce his own heart.

Was the dream a sign? Perhaps Luc was the stag elk. He would have victory over this misery if he just worked up the courage to do it. He felt the still-hot tip with its crossbeam point; it felt more rounded than sharp when he pressed it with his index finger. He doubted it would pierce his skin. It may pierce his eye, and go through his brain if he thrust it hard enough…

He sighed, hating that he was too cowardly and fearful of pain to go through with it.

There was a knock on the door. He ignored it for the first two times, but it persisted.

 _"Luc!"_ His meddling friend Jean.

"What is it, Paquet?" Luc muttered dismissively.

"I'm just checking up on you. May we come in?" So he'd come with his little wife. _Here to stare at the freak!_ he supposed. The door opened, and Paquet came in followed by a small woman in an apron and kerchief cap. Luc glanced at them for a brief second, then focused his eyes back on the fireplace.

"You're out of bed, Luc! That's amazing! Good for you!" Paquet exclaimed, beaming.

"Yes!" Luc said, his voice rising in a mockery of Paquet's cheer. "And I can take a piss in the chamber pot all by myself, like a _big boy!_ Would Mamma Jean like to _see_?"

"Luc, cut it out. There's a lady here, no need for language."

The girl behind Paquet backed away, shuddering. "Jean...I really cannot..."

Luc took a closer look at the petite young lady and realized she wasn't Clémence. She had spots on her face, and looked like the one from Jean's wedding party. The one who had smallpox.

"Luc," Jean explained, "My relative, Emilie, has offered to watch over you when she can, while your aunt is away. Please be kind-"

Luc stood up to his full six-foot-two height, and his mocking tone turned to anger. He began to yell. "Who do you think you are, Paquet? Bringing _her_ to show me that misery needs company? What's your plan? To round us all up for a leper colony?"

"Stop it, Luc! She had the disease, so she can safely be in contact with you. She's a good cook and is willing to stay around and and fetch things for you, if you want to stay inside-"

"What about _you_ , then? You shouldn't be in contact with either of us. Do you want to be _next_?" he roared. Emilie clutched Jean's shoulder, her eyes fearful.

"The doctor said you're well past recovered by now. It's been six weeks," Jean argued back. "Masson needs you back to work soon. You're too valuable a worker to lose. And Emilie here wanted to help!" He pointed to Emilie, who looked at Luc as if he were a monster.

…

Emilie was very intimidated at the sight of the man. She could barely believe that this was the same enchanting person she'd met only a month and a half before. His long black hair was unkempt and matted, falling over his haggard, pox-spotted face. She could still recognize the handsome features, but his bitter expression completely overpowered whatever pleasant countenance he still possessed. His clothes were wrinkled and he didn't have shoes on. What was worst about him, though, was his raging, shouting voice and attitude.

She watched wide-eyed as he scowled at her in contempt, then flopped himself back on the chair. His messy long hair whipped around in front of his face as he turned back to the fireplace.

"Jean, please stay," Emilie pleaded. "I do _not_ want to be alone with him at all! I changed my mind!"

"It's okay, Emilie. I'll stay. So Luc, if you want to sit and stare at the fireplace, she and I can both tidy up the place a little bit. We can go to the market and pick up some groceries, too. Anything you'd like?"

"A gun, Paquet. Then come back and shoot me," he mumbled in a quiet and rather pathetic tone.

Emilie immediately felt courage rise up within her as she realized that this beastly fellow's bark was worse than his bite. She knew the thoughts and feelings he was experiencing, she'd had them herself. She had turned all her despair inward. She never shouted or was angry at anyone, nor expressed to others a desire to die. At one point, she'd wished it in private, praying for a just God to take her in her sleep- until knowing how her parents and Adelaide would be grieved at such a thought.

She walked over and stood between him and the fireplace, staring down at his bowed head of matted hair.

"Monsieur! For the sake of all things good, please stop it right now. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself!_ " she chided in a loud, clear voice, wondering how the nerve to confront this brute had come over her.

He sat motionless, his bloodshot gaze falling on her apron and shifting back and forth, attempting to look through her. He mumbled to her in a low voice.

"You still don't know what I'm going through...being just a plain _woman,_ you aren't _me_."

"You selfish oaf!" Emilie shot back, getting increasingly angry. "Because I'm 'just a woman', my looks determine my entire life. If my _father_ dies, I could live in poverty unless I learn a skill without a husband. I do believe being a woman and having a ruined face is just as bad, if not worse. Being a woman in this world is no easy thing! So yes, Monsieur Luc, I _do_ know what you're going through!"

Luc glanced up at her. She was more spirited than he'd thought. Her face was flushed, her brown eyes were fiery, and the pox spots suddenly didn't look so bad. He looked around the dingy tiny apartment. Truly Aunt Agathe had gone without a husband as well, and look at _her_ pathetic life…

"I suppose you have a point." He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Luc," Jean spoke up, "Another thing. If I hear more talk about wanting to shoot yourself, I'm going to the church and getting the priest. Because if you're determined to off yourself, you need your last rites given."

"Go ahead, Paquet. You'd better do it as soon as possible," he sneered.

"Emilie, go buy a little food at the grocery stand and bakers' for all three of us. I'll stay here and watch over him," Jean said, crossing his arms and standing over Luc with a newfound authority over his older friend.

Emilie went to the markets to buy some things, glad to be away from him. When she came back, Jean and Emilie tidied up the rooms. As they worked and talked, it was an awkward feeling since the man who lived there seemed more to be a part of the furniture than their companion. He continued sitting on the chair in silence. _At least he hasn't gone back to bed,_ Jean thought.

They chatted with each other in a brotherly and sisterly manner. Emilie offered to give Jean and Clémence some of her and her mother's recipes. Jean praised his new wife's housekeeping, and changed the subject to Emilie's drawing and painting hobby when the topic of being a wife seemed to sadden her. Jean brought up the hotel's grand opening in an effort to bring Luc into the conversation, but Luc stayed silent. Later in the afternoon when the small apartment was clean, Emilie cooked some onions and carrots in butter and added a few slabs of meat from the butchers' shop, frying it up for a dinner.

She served out two plates for her cousin-in-law and herself. "This smells heavenly," Jean said. He took a bite. "Tastes heavenly, too!"

"The butcher said it was wild game," said Emilie. "Venison from a forest doe, it's a delicacy that country and village folks enjoy all the time. Hard to come by in the city."

When they sat down on an old bench together with their plates, a hoarse voice spoke up.

"Serve some up for me, too."

Jean and Emilie turned to see Luc, perking up at the delicious culinary smell. _"Please,"_ he added.

...


	10. Barely Even Friends

Chapter 10- Barely Even Friends

...

Emilie and Jean glanced over at their unwelcoming host, pleasantly surprised. He wanted to eat with them!

"Luc! That's great! I'm glad you finally want to break your hunger strike." Jean said. He stood up and fixed another hearty plate. "Could you join us at the table, like the gentleman I know you are?"

Luc accepted the plate and gave Jean a silent scowl, but he proceeded to join the two at the tiny table. Emilie tensed as the unkempt man sat with them. They ate silently and awkwardly. When they finished, Emilie gladly stood up to do some dishes.

"You should come over to my parents' place again," said Jean. "My brothers have been asking about you. They want to know if you're all right."

Luc didn't answer, nor give Jean any eye contact. He went to plop back on his chair facing the fireplace.

"We're heading off, Luc. Emilie will come by in the morning." Jean glanced apologetically at the young woman, who was visibly cringing as she dried the last of the dishes. They bid adieu to the man still staring morosely at the fireplace.

...

"I'll pay you two livres extra, Emilie. The man is sick, he needs a nursemaid to save his life," Jean said pleadingly to Emilie as they headed across the city in a cab carriage. "Think of it as...kind, Christian charity. Think of your reward in eternity for caring for 'the least unto these.'"

"I suppose you're right. It's an act of charity, but-"

Jean took coins from his pocket and gave them to her. "Here. And just remember how much he charmed you on first meeting. Who knows, once he feels better, you might grow to like him."

"Like him? I don't want anything to _do_ with him!" Emilie said angrily. "Not because he was stricken like I was. It's his horrible attitude."

"I understand. But the more time he spends alone in his apartment, the less likely he'll improve and want to go back to work with me. I have ulterior motives, I guess. The man hired to work in Luc's place cannot do a _thing_."

"Only for three days," Emilie said with a sigh.

...

Emilie knocked on the apartment door in dread. Jean had just dropped her off at Luc's place before he had to go to work. There was no answer, but the door was open. She let herself in.

"Monsieur Avenant? It's me, Mademoiselle Fortier. I'm here to cook you breakfast." She found him lying face-up on the floor, lifting a heavy wooden bench up and down.

"Oh...I'm sorry, Monsieur! Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Doing my exercises," he said gruffly.

"Oh...all right. I guess doing exercises can help you to get your old job back. I mean, Jean really hopes you do," Emilie said tentatively, trying to encourage the man. For Jean's sake, not his.

"Jean needs to not depend on me so much at work," Luc argued, standing to his feet and placing the bench upright on the floor. "I doubt I'll ever go back there again. There's eggs and smoked fish in the larder, by the way. Less talk and more cooking."

She sighed and set to cooking, thinking that Luc's demanding attitude wasn't all that different from Evangeline's. After she'd made him breakfast, she self consciously took a seat next to him. The man's table manners were much to be improved on; 'boorish' was the word that came to mind.

He glanced up at her with a scowl. "I'd rather you not look at me."

"I can go outside for some fresh air, then. Is there anything you'd want me to bring you?"

"There are a lot of things I _want_ , Mademoiselle. But someone like _you_ would be unable to provide them. So on that thought, I just want to be _alone_ ," he said slowly through gritted teeth, trying to control his urge to yell in anger.

"So you want me to leave for awhile," she replied calmly.

"What do you _think_?" he spat.

"I think I'll be very happy to take your leave for now. I'll be back at one." She gave him a little relieved smile, to emphasize the point she'd rather be anywhere else but with him.

Emilie walked out of the apartment and outside to the stair landing, keeping her bonnet low upon her face; a self conscious habit. She had brought a carpet bag bearing her sketchbook and pencils, plus a little bit of mending with spool and thread. Not wanting to sit in boredom, and with no money left to buy anything, she found a spot on the building's staircase and started to draw the buildings across from her.

She began to enjoy herself again as she became absorbed in drawing. Horses and buggies rushed past; a few busy people walked by. None gave her any mind. An old man was approaching Emilie's side of the street pushing a cart. Shyness coming over her, Emilie hunched over her sketchbook.

"Good day, Mademoiselle! Would you care for some apples?" Emilie had to look up. The old man's cart was filled with bags of apples, flour bags, and a few overripe bananas.

"I have no money on me, Monsieur," she replied.

"Oh, but they are not for sale! They're free," the ragged-clothed man said with a kind smile. "And you look like the sort of young lady that loves to bake apple patisseries and tarts. Do you like to bake with apples?"

Emilie had little tolerance for peddlers, knowing the 'free' part had a catch to it. But she wasn't sure how to get rid of him without being rude. "I do, not as much as my sister, but I'm really not-"

"Here. A bag of my best apples, and I'll throw in this as well. A bag of finely ground wheat flour! Perfect for making a pie or patisserie!" Despite her protests, he set the food items on the stair step beside her.

"Merci. You're very kind if this actually _is_ free. But how can you possibly earn a living, if you're giving away your wares?"

The old man laughed and grinned. "You ask too many questions, child. I am fine, you needn't worry about my welfare. But could I ask you one thing?"

"What is that?"

"Sit right there where you are," He reached into his rickety cart again, beneath the bags of apples, bananas, and various foods, and pulled out a large hand mirror. He held it out for her to see her reflection.

"Please, mademoiselle, look into this mirror for a brief moment, would you?"

She recoiled back, catching her reflection. "I don't like mirrors."

"Just for one second. Close your eyes, if you would like." Emilie closed her eyes uncomfortably, allowing the man to point the mirror at her in an odd manner. When she opened them, he'd put it away.

"Merci, my dear. Enjoy your apples!" He gave her a kind smile and rolled the cart away.

"Monsieur, may I ask- what is your name? I'm Mademoiselle Fortier."

"Gladly. My name is Monsieur Aloysius Armand Guérisseur, at your service!" He tipped his hat to her before disappearing around a corner.

Emilie went back to her sketch of the building across the street, adding the detail of the odd gargoyle statues near the crumbled brownstone's top gables. When it came time to prepare her charge's lunch, she took a deep breath and carried the bags of bounty up the stairs to face Luc again.

...

Aloysius returned back to his suite in the top floor of a crumbled brownstone on Rue Trois. As soon as he was in his own private quarters, he took out his magic wand and pointed it at himself, changing his tattered peddler's clothes into a black waistcoat and breeches. He took his Magic Mirror out and set it levitating in midair while he settled on a plush Rococo settee.

He pointed his wand at the Mirror. " _Contactez Mademoiselle Agathe!"_ Within moments, the Mirror glowed and Agathe appeared in it.

"Aloysius, tell me, how are things with Luc?" She had transformed again to her young and pretty self, looking much different than when she'd left.

"You look lovely, dear cousin! How is Prince Adam, and his new wife?"

"Doing very well! They are getting ready for their first Christmas coming up in a matter of weeks. I spent a day overseeing the people of Villeneuve. They're all living happily. I only had _one_ brief moment where I was annoyed enough with a rude person to cast my magical wrath on him. But how is Luc?"

"Good news! Luc is eating again, and I saw him doing exercises lifting a heavy bench. He is still alive, and it seems he's overcome the worst of it. I think he's going to keep improving. A little gruff and mean to the poor girl, though."

"Which girl?"

"Emilie. The one we observed before, the smallpox victim. Here is a picture of her." Aloysius gave the Mirror a wave of his wand and showed a photographic image of Emilie that he'd taken, using the Mirror.

"Oh, yes. That poor, unfortunate girl! Does she seem to you to be a kind, caring person?"

"Most definitely, Agathe. I saw so much inner beauty in her, just from our brief conversation today. I gave her a bag of my apples."

"With potion inside, I presume? Aloysius, what kind of potion did you put in it?" Agathe said in shock. "I don't want you to meddle with Luc or anyone else too much! He is my case, not yours!"

"No potion. I promise. They were just plain, ordinary apples. I did not infuse them with my elixirs. I wanted to, though."

"I have an idea, Aloysius." Agathe said.

"What is that?"

"Emilie can be your case, while Luc remains mine. If you want to help _her_ with magic, you may. But don't do anything to Luc, whether it's a punishment or a reward. I want him on his own without magical involvement for a long time. The less I do for him right now, the better."

"Very well. Good bye, Agathe, I will see you sometime again soon, won't I?"

"Perhaps within a few weeks, Aloysius. Good bye."

"Adieu."

Agathe watched Aloysius 'hang up' from his side of the communicating Magic Mirrors, disappearing from view.

She was enjoying some needed time off away from Luc, and the impoverished apartment in Paris. Her aged and aching body was traded for her young healthy one, for the time being. She went outside her secret cottage in the forest, and mounted a white horse that she'd just acquired by Transfiguring a wild mouse.

The first snow of the season had fallen in the Villeneuve region. Agathe rode along a quiet, wooded trail, going to the castle again to call upon Belle and Adam. She wanted to know if they or the staff needed any magical assistance. She still felt a burden of guilt for those servants who'd almost died last summer. She would stop at nothing to aid them, but only if they wanted any help. If they didn't want her around she would leave. She still held a great fear that Enchanted authorities had gotten word of her doings here, and was prepared to erase _Sans-Magie_ memories for self-protection.

She rode in solitude in the gentle snow, thinking of what to do about everyone's still-fresh memories of the Beast and sentient objects. She pondered what to do, or what _not_ to do about her newest project of 'Luc.' In the pocket of the silver fur coat she wore, she kept a brass button that she had taken from Gaston Legume's military coat. She'd taken the button when he had been with her in the makeshift tent, the previous summer after he had 'died.'

Agathe had set a magical charm on the button. If its color changed to black, it would indicate to her the sad news that 'Luc' had died, possibly by his own hand.

But if it glowed bright red, it would mean that Luc was not only alive, but was experiencing an unselfish moment. A kind emotion for someone else, perhaps even a kind deed.

Agathe took the button out and held it in the palm of her hand. It was still golden brass, but she could see a faint, pinkish tinge appear over it. Pleased, she put it back in her pocket.

After riding for a while, her solitude was interrupted by two men riding their horses toward her, coming from the other direction. One of the men was quite familiar to her; a stout young man with a pleasantly round, rosy-cheeked face. The other man was very young; tall and lean, strikingly handsome, his black hair in rolled curls beneath a fashionable plumed hat.

She gave the two riders a kind smile in passing. The stouter one spoke to her, and then she remembered.

This was Lefou, the closest friend of Gaston Legume! A tense conversation ensued. Monsieur Lefou confronted Agathe with a series of questions. Questions she was not prepared for.

 _"Please. With all due respect, do you have information for me on what happened to his body after he fell from the collapsed bridge? You're my last hope of someone who can tell me._ "

Before she knew it, Agathe found herself telling him part of the truth. She immediately regretted doing so.

 _"You DID something to Gaston?"_ _"You made him disappear? W_ _hy did you 'make Gaston disappear'?"_

Mortals could never understand the ways of the Enchanteds. Lefou's reaction was typical. Agathe wanted to make certain that her deeds- spells, enchantments, and even terrible curses- resulted in good in the end, as long as the Enchanter was good. He wouldn't understand.

Using her prior knowledge of this man, she brilliantly steered the subject to one which made _him_ feel a sense of guilt. Finally, she had no choice but to slightly alter Monsieur Lefou's memory, as well as the memory of his companion, Stanley. She used a charm to remove from their minds the things she'd accidentally told them.

Gaston Legume was believed to be dead. And she had to keep making them believe that he _was_ dead. At least two hundred and thirty miles of distance separated 'Luc Avenant' and the people who knew him in life. Few of them were likely go to Paris. It was even less likely they'd ever run into him there.

 _That_ was the assurance she needed.

...

The aroma of baked apple tart filled the tiny apartment. Luc's mouth was watering as he dug in to Emilie's culinary creations. As they ate together, Luc noticed Emilie's sketchbook sitting on a sideboard, open to a drawing of buildings.

"Who drew that? Is that Jean's?" he asked in an incoherent mumble through a mouthful of apple tart.

"Actually...it was mine. I drew it."

He glowered at her. "But you're a mere woman. You need an _education_ to draw like that."

"I never had much schooling. But I taught _myself_ to draw. You learn to find ways to pass the time when you're the daughter of a shopkeeper in a little general store. I spent my childhood with my sister helping him, sitting at the counter minding the store when Papa did the bookwork and stocked shelves. When I became skilled at it, customers even offered to buy my artwork."

"So why are you a lady's maid and not some famous artist then?" Luc asked, smirking a little.

"I'm a mere woman."

"Oh...of course. _Obviously_."

"I draw portraits too. Do you want to see some?"

Luc gulped up the last of his apple tart, washing it down with a glass of warmed milk in a stoneware mug. "Sure."

In a much more relaxed mood, Emilie took the sketchbook and flipped through the pages. Luc was intensely interested in one drawing in particular- that of a lovely young woman with hair piled in curls atop her head, wearing a dress festooned with ruffles and bows. A faux 'beauty mark' graced her left cheek.

"Mon Dieu, that's beautiful. _She's_ amazingly beautiful! Who is _that_?"

"It's Her Ladyship. Evangeline de Brumagne. Daughter of the Marquis de Brumagne. The man who commissioned the hotel you used to build?" she added inquisitively.

"Wait...I met her..." he said in a flat voice, and his countenance darkened again.

"Monsieur Luc, is something wrong?"

His head snapped back up to make eye contact with her. Despite the facial scars, his hazel-eyed gaze with its brute, masculine intensity made her hair stand on end.

"She is a hard woman to please, that's all."

"I know. I'm her lady's maid, remember? She's difficult sometimes. God help the poor nobleman who has the misfortune to marry her. She's being courted by someone right now. I hope it all works out."

A sour expression crossed Luc's face, but he seemed to brush it off with a shake of his head. "Aren't you jealous of her?" he asked. He lazily leaned back in his chair, his now-much-thinner arms tucked behind his head. He'd lost muscle from the illness and his 'hunger strike.'

"Jealous of Evangeline?" she asked.

He gestured to the portrait. "Her beauty and wealth. She has _everything_ a woman could dream of. Wouldn't you want to be her?"

Emilie shrugged. "I don't know. I guess...in a way, but actually... _no_! I love my family. My sister, Maman and Papa."

"My parents are dead," he said matter of factly.

"I'm sorry. How did they die?"

"They got sick during one of the worst plague years. I can barely recall them."

"So your Aunt Agathe is a sister of either your Maman or Papa. Whose sister is she?" Emilie asked casually.

Luc's mouth opened a little, then closed. He narrowed his eyes toward the ceiling. "Damn...I don't even know," he whispered, seeming almost frightened.

"Are you all right, Monsieur?" She instinctively reached out and touched his elbow.

"Don't touch me," he said irritably, pulling his arm away. "I am afflicted in nearly every way! I am a danger to everyone, lest they come in contact with me! It isn't just the smallpox I had!"

Emilie drew back, feeling tense. "I can't get the smallpox a second time," she reasoned. "I'll be fine."

Luc put his hands to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. "Something is just not _right_ with me, Mademoiselle. I am a doomed man, doomed to die-"

"Like I told you yesterday, you _have_ to snap out of this attitude," Emilie said calmly. "Your skin and face is not your life. You are still _you_. Don't let the smallpox kill you after all!"

" _I SAID, it's not just smallpox_!" Luc slammed his fist on the table angrily, sharply. Emilie jumped back in fear. Tears welled in her eyes.

"There is something wrong with my mind! Right here!" He poked his index finger at his forehead, two or three sharp jabs.

"I'm sorry. You can tell me about it, I mean, if you want," she babbled. Anything to calm the 'monster' which had resurfaced, she thought.

"I have dreams," Luc said with pain in his expression. "Every night. And they're _real_ to me. More real than anything else."

Emilie was emboldened. She imagined herself as one of those circus animal tamers, gently guiding a fierce beast to a tame state.

"What do you dream about?" she asked.

He blew out a breath. "I never told anyone this before. In my dreams, it's like all my desires come true. I become a soldier. A brave war hero, taking down enemies and winning battles. I have a whole band of admirers who sing me songs, and my nights are filled with drink, and revelry, and fellowship. I would much rather sleep eternally than remain alive like this."

Silence filled the room as Emilie tried to ponder this. Luc spoke again. "What do _you_ dream about?" he asked her.

"Me? Oh, mine are silly. I hardly ever remember. I've had a few where I...where I'm stuck in a dirty, smelly privy, with a giant bottomless latrine hole that I'm afraid I'll fall into. Like a filthy well I could drown in. It's unpleasant. I hardly _ever_ have pleasant dreams."

"Oh," he said, smirking in slight amusement for a split second before his face returned to its troubled look. " _I_ have horrific ones too. There's one I keep having about a horned monster. It jumps over rooftops, and I keep trying to kill it, but I can't."

"That sounds almost like dreams of the Devil," said Emilie, nervously. "You should tell a priest or minister about them. It must stand for something."

Luc waved his hand in dismissal. "It's all ridiculous nonsense. I'm an insane man, crazy as a loon. And now you know. I shouldn't have told you."

"If it's bothering you so, maybe you need to tell _someone_. And it's better you told me, because I can keep a secret. Few people care about what I think or say."

"You'd _better_ keep it a secret!" Luc gave her a threatening look that made her break eye contact, cringing a brief moment. She willed herself to raise her chin, determined to not cower or be intimidated. "Don't tell Jean or Clémence, or your sister. I hope I can rely on you to not embarrass me," he added in a lowered voice.

"I'm surprised you remember my sister," Emilie pointed out. "When I met you, you asked Adelaide out for a carriage ride. But then you left without even speaking to her again, changing your mind! You aren't the most reliable person. Especially for someone who makes the kind of demands you do of _others._ "

He shrugged and looked down at the table, fiddling with a fork. "Then maybe I should not exist in this world to demand anything." His dark, pathetic expression had returned, and Emilie was not going to fall into his trap.

"Jean said the next time you talk about killing yourself, he'd go to the church and consult a priest. I am going to _tell_ him what you just said! He's done with work in an hour!"

"Ohh! I'm scared," said Luc mockingly. "So the minister will read me my last rites. It's what I need."

"You're impossible!" Emilie yelled in exasperation. She stood up and rushed to the door, slamming it angrily and running down the stairs.

Luc opened his mouth and was about to argue with her, but her exit was so abrupt he lost the chance. He stood up and went over to the small window, seeing the small figure in the grey-green striped dress and white apron, running across the street in quick steps. Her long brown ponytail bounced behind her until she faded from view.

Dimness settled over the dreary little apartment. Aunt Agathe was gone, Jean had no time for him, and now his little cooking companion who made the delicious meals for him was gone. He was painfully alone, just like he'd said he wanted.

It was just too damn _quiet_ now. He was so confused.

She had been a great help to him, after all. It felt good to have someone cook for him. It felt good to eat again, and it felt good to have someone to bicker with, someone other than his old aunt.

He honestly hoped she would come back tomorrow.

...

 _A.N.- I'm terribly sorry for the long wait between chapters! I had lost momentum for writing this story. Busy with real life concerns, my kids, etc. Thank you meganangels and guest for reviewing and asking for updates! It helps to know there are still a few readers interested, so thank you._

 _Note about the break scene in Agathe's POV- I apologize for lack of dialogue detail when she talks to Lefou in the forest. That scene is part of another story. If you haven't read 'There's No Question,' the full detailed conversation between Agathe, Lefou and Stanley is in Chapter 20, the last chapter of TNQ._


	11. Wasting in His Lonely Tower

Chapter 11- Wasting in His Lonely Tower

...

Luc was alone that night, and the next day- and the next day after that.

He had nothing to do except sleep, raid the rest of the food that Emilie had brought, and take a little exercise by lifting the bench up and down. He tried to occupy his mind by counting repetitions on his bench lifts until he reached one hundred. When he finished with that, he stared out the small window through the tattered curtain for hours, making certain that no one on the busy street could accidentally spot the unsightly man peeking out, staring down at them like a ghoulish specter.

Snow fell on the third day that Luc was alone. He had no calendar, but was nearly certain that it was now the beginning of December. His guess was confirmed when he saw people putting holly wreaths and red ribbons on their doors. The holiday season had always added a quaint charm and light to a time of year when darkness and cold moved in, demanding more wood for the fires and oil for lamps.

Luc did not want to go out to buy the things needed for light or comfort. He didn't deserve them. An insane man of a monstrous appearance would simply be a blight upon this city of snowflakes and the laughter of children. So inside his apartment he remained, only venturing outside when the bitterly cold darkness fell.

On the fourth night alone, he desperately wanted to bathe. He waited until midnight, and then he padded down the stairs and out to the back of the apartment building wrapped in a blanket as a cloak. He grasped the handle of the communal water well pump and pushed it hard, causing it to make a much louder squeaking noise in the hour's stillness. He worked quickly, the chill water splashing in the bucket with each 'squeak.'

 _"We're trying to get some sleep around here! You're rude pumping the water at this hour of night!"_ a woman screeched out her window above.

 _"_ I'm sorry _,"_ Luc said, his voice a hoarse croak. _"_ My wife is sick and we're fresh out of cold water! _"_ he added. A lie, to gain some sympathy.

 _"All right then. I do hope she gets better!"_ came the woman's less-harsh reply.

 _"_ Thank you," he muttered, hefting the bucket and carefully bringing back upstairs. He used the last few pieces of kindling wood to heat part of the water in a tea kettle. When it boiled, he poured it with the cold water in a small tub bucket, making it comfortably warm. He stripped down by candlelight, finding a block of lye soap and washing up awkwardly. Much of his body as well as his face was dotted with smallpox scars; he could never bring himself to really examine them until now. Bathing would not get rid of them, but his skin was much more refreshed now and felt better. He vowed to do this every night, so as not to feel like such a wretched animal.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep. He pondered in aching guilt about how his attitude and rude manner had repelled Emilie. He could have had a companion for a few days, but he ruined it. This innocent girl had come to him, given selflessly, but he sent her away. And he realized now that it had _nothing_ to do with how he looked!

She had only wanted to help. Perhaps even be a kindred spirit and friend, having suffered a similar fate. But Luc Avenant, fool as he was, failed again when it came to wanting to rejoin the human race.

In the wee hours of morning, Luc finally fell into a dream. This time he was swimming in a river, accompanied by large fish that bit his ankles and tried to devour his feet. The fish soon transformed into mermaids. They were strangely beautiful mermaids with seaweed-green hair; their humanlike skin a pale blue color. The river turned cold and icy, and the mermaids swimming beside him shivered, ice crystals forming in their hair. Luc felt cold overtaking him. An unseen fish bit his right toe painfully. He yelled out in anger the moment he woke up.

Reality would prove to be worse. His room was icy cold. He spotted the reason he'd felt a 'fish' biting his foot. It was not a fish at all, but a rat. He spotted the rodent scurrying away the moment he yelled and kicked his foot.

 _"Damn!"_ he cried out, reaching to grab his nearby boot to fling at the creature. It was gone from sight. Luc's skin crawled, his toe throbbed. How many rats were in this apartment now? He observed his big toe, the bite mark oozing with blood.

 _"You better not give me rabies, you filthy vermin!"_ he screamed aloud, incensed. He stood up and rushed into the main sitting room, his mind swirling with images of more rats, rats everywhere. He washed his bitten toe, finding a scrap of cloth to tie around it in lieu of a bandage.

He _had_ to get out of this place!

It was no longer habitable for human use. He tried to remember if there had been a rat infestation during previous winters when he and Aunt Agathe had lived there. His memory of this detail was miserably blank. Luc decided the only thing he could do was to set traps. Finding the crumbly remains of cheese in the larder, he set pieces of it on small plates. Sitting quietly, Luc huddled in his blanket, clutched his fireplace poker in eager hands and waited. And _waited._

After an hour, the rat- about four inches long with an equally long, pinkish tail- crept out of whatever crevice it had been hiding in and approached a plate of cheese in the corner nearest where Luc was crouched.

Luc leapt across the room and attacked with the agility and speed of a panther. He struck the rat with his iron poker, crushing and killing it in one swift hit. Blood splattered from the small animal onto the wooden floor.

Within seconds, he cried out in pain as his own head was overcome with a blinding, migraine ache. His vision blurred, he felt woozy and faint, collapsing onto the floor. Visions and dreams enveloped his mind again. This time, the vision was pleasant and ethereal.

A beautiful woman with long blonde hair appeared to him. She wore a silver mink coat and winter fur hat beneath a jade green gown. Her eyes were kind, but her voice was full of warning and reproach. _'Luc Avenant, you have killed a living creature. You are forbidden from killing, even if you feel that it was justified,'_ she called out.

"Who are you?" he demanded in his dream. He took a second glance at her, and a faint recognition came upon him. She looked _exactly_ like that barmaid in the green dress from months before! The one who had healed his burning mouth when he had taken a drink of alcohol!

 _'You could say that I am your guardian spirit.'_ she replied.

Luc's soul burned with an indignant rage. "So what am I supposed to _do_? Let rats eat me alive? If you're my goddamned 'guardian spirit' or angel, or whatever you claim to be, what have I done to _deserve_ this?" His voice croaked, and he blinked back angry, self-pitying tears.

 _'I understand that the animal harmed you. But next time let someone else do the killing. And I want you to accept help from your friends. Reach out to others!'_ she cried out.

"Why?" he spat, still in the midst of his unconscious vision. He watched her fade away, her gentle plea of ' _Reach out to others!'_ echoing through his mind's ear.

The reality of his cold apartment began to resurface. He could hear a knocking sound; at first it sounded far away. As his brain returned to consciousness he recognized the fact that someone was indeed knocking on his door.

"Luc!"

" _Jean?_ "

"Luc, can you please let me in?" Jean Paquet demanded, his voice unusually stern.

"Come in... _please_ ," he cried out, his voice sounding pathetic once he'd uttered it. Jean came in alone. His eyes widened at the sight of his long-ill friend splayed on the floor next to what appeared to be a dead rat.

"What happened to you?" he exclaimed. "For heaven's sake, it's freezing cold in here! You have no firewood left! Are you sick again?"

"I-I...that rat..it bit me. It bit my foot, and then I killed it, and I think I...fainted. _Damn_ it, Jean!"

" _Mon Dieu_! Those things can be deadly! They carry rabies, maybe even the plague! I have to get you out of here. It isn't good for you to be alone in a place like this!"

"Jean, please. I'll be fine," he tried to argue. Jean knelt on the floor and examined his toe with the cloth tied around it. It was a minor bite. Concern and worry was etched over the young man's features.

Luc had to admit that he was beyond happy and relieved that he was here. He gazed up at his young friend, and a smile begin to form against his will. "Thank you," he whispered.

Jean shook his head sadly as he returned his gaze. "Oh, Luc. My God, what's become of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were once so full of pride and strength...and now you've allowed yourself...oh, never mind!"

"So I'm not good enough to be your friend now?" Luc replied miserably. His anger and outrage had given over to despair.

"No! I care about you, Luc. We used to be a team when we started work on the hotel together. And I've always liked you. I _still_ do."

"I highly doubt that," Luc said, squeezing his eyes shut to fight the miserable stinging of tears. A sob threatened to burst through his chest. He was about to scream at Jean to 'get out'- but something made him hesitate.

"Don't doubt it. It's true. You've been through hell, _mon ami._ I understand that it wasn't fair."

"No. It's not fair! What have I ever done to _deserve_ a life like this?"

"I don't know, _mon ami._ But you're strong and you can get through this setback in your life. I came here today- well, there's two reasons. One, that I wanted to tell you how disappointed I am with how you treated Emilie."

"I didn't mean to hurt her, I just wasn't in the mood for visitors!" he said through clenched teeth. "You shouldn't have made her deal with me. It's _your_ fault, Paquet."

"I couldn't let you die or starve yourself without finding someone to watch over you. She told me she thought you were an interesting person to talk to, at least for a while."

"She _did_?" He could barely recall much of his actual conversation with Emilie through the fog of his anger and despair. Yet, he remembered perfectly well that he'd uttered his wish for his own death in front of her, deeply offending her. She'd been there to offer him comfort in his need, but his prideful spirit was unable to take it.

"Do you remember the things you said to her when she was here?" Jean pressed.

"I think...I told her I don't deserve to exist, and she doesn't need to help someone like me. It's the _truth,_ you know."

"No, it's not! Look, Luc. The smallpox is in the past, now. It's all behind you! You need to stop loathing yourself and for God's sake- make yourself _well_ again! It breaks my heart to see a decent friend down and out. Look at you! Lying on the floor, letting the rats eat you alive? You can get out of here."

" _How_?" A tear trickled down Luc's cheek as he fixed Jean's gaze.

Jean was pained to be a witness to such human misery. It was almost like the Great Plague of Paris, all over again. Except that it was descending on one man only. He remembered Job in the Bible, and hoped for a chance to tell Luc the story- if he was willing to hear it out.

"I wanted to tell you about a new work opportunity. Where you can make _twice_ as much money and can live in comfort and luxury. I am in earnest," said Jean.

"What kind of silly fantasy are you talking about, Paquet?"

"If you're not interested, and if you'd rather rot in squalor amongst the rodents, I'll take my leave right now." Jean stood up and walked to the door after that declaration.

"Wait!" Luc pleaded, reaching out a desperate hand.

Jean turned around. "Are you interested? Are you feeling well enough to work again?"

Luc clambered up to his feet. Despite the sting of pain in his toe, his previous head pain and fainting spell was completely gone. He felt awake, normal. His great desire amongst all the others fought for dominance in his soul, and that desire was to get back into the world and _do_ something again. Be useful, be productive. Be a _man_ again. His pride could not, _would not_ allow another day like this one. He did not want to die here anymore, only to be devoured by rats!

There had to be a way out. And if Jean was offering a lifeline, he would take it.

"I'm not sick anymore, Jean!" he cried out. "Believe me! I can _do_ it! I've got to get out of this hellhole, Jean. Please...tell me about that opportunity."

Jean's face lit up with a beaming, ear-to-ear smile. Before Luc knew it, the slender little man rushed to him and gave him a genuine hug. Luc found himself embracing the younger man back, shedding real tears of relief and joy.

"Thank you. Thank you, Jean, for coming here. You...you practically saved my life."

Jean drew back and clutched the taller man's shoulders, his young blue eyes meeting his older friend's watery yet fierce gaze. He barely even noticed the smallpox scars anymore. Luc was coming back to life, regaining his indomitable spirit.

Not only that, there was something _different_ coming over him, so strong that Jean could almost feel it radiating from the older man. There was no foolish arrogance in Luc's attitude, like there had been before his illness. His attitude was that of sincere _hope._ Not vanity.

"You're a fighter, Luc Avenant! Don't you ever forget it," Jean declared, patting his shoulders.

"Thank you," Luc repeated, sweeping a finger over his moist eyes, heaving deep breaths of cleansing emotion. He couldn't utter the words enough. "Thank you. I needed encouragement. I needed...a friend."

"It's okay! You're going to be okay, _mon ami."_

"Where's Emilie?" Luc asked. "I have to speak to Emilie again."

"Emilie? She's...the truth is, she's traveling out of Paris today. She and her sister Adelaide are back in service to the Marquis and his family. Out on his new country estate."

Luc turned away, sadness crossing his features. "So she's gone."

"Well, yes-"

"Will you be able to see her again soon? I mean...I treated her badly." Luc mumbled.

"Luc, listen to me. I'm going to head out next Monday to their country home, where Emilie went. The Marquis hired me as his own stonemason and carpenter! I've got a promotion, and I don't have to work for Masson anymore. I am officially on the Marquis' personal staff! You should have seen the look on Clémence's face. She's overjoyed! She is going to live on the estate with me, and help out in the kitchens! It's a dream come true. We can raise our future children away from the crowded streets of Paris, with nature, and trees, and gardens, and-"

"So you're leaving Paris?" An ache erupted deep in Luc's heart. Everyone was leaving.

"Yes, but that's what I wanted to _ask_ of you!" Jean's excited, boyish voice rose an octave. "The Marquis' head of household was asking for one more stonemason and builder to make a four-man crew. To add more rooms to his estate. I guess the Marquis' father passed away recently, and now he wants to move his family out of the city. His new inherited house is grand, but some of the walls and rooms need repair. They aren't up to the Marquis and his wife's choosy tastes."

"Well, congratulations," Luc mumbled.

"Did you not hear what I just _said_? I'm asking you if you want to _join_ me!" Jean was in a manic, bubbly state as he clutched at Luc's arm. "I already told Monsieur Valois that I had a strong, agile friend who was a hard worker and would be perfect to add as the fourth member of our team. _You_!"

"Me? I'm not sure I'm as good as I used to be. I've been sick so long, I lost some of my strength, and, just _look_ at me," he sighed, averting Jean's eyes in hesitation. "You're too kind, but this is too much-"

"Come with me to my place. Clémence will be cooking fish and au gratin potatoes tonight, a celebratory dinner. You must join us. Luc, I think you _can_ be as good as you were two months ago. Your problem is all right _here_." Jean touched Luc's temple. "Good work and a change of scenery are what you need. I demand you join us for dinner and stay the night. Pack your bags, old man! You're leaving with me to apply for a new job, whether you like it or not."

Luc breathed a sigh of resignation, and gave his friend an uncertain but hopeful grin. "Guess I don't have a choice, do I, Paquet?"

"No, you don't." Jean smiled up at him in triumph.

Luc stepped forward and gave Jean another strong, firm embrace. "Thank you. Thank you again, for all you've done. You're the best."

...

Hundreds of miles away, in a hidden hideaway in the forest of eastern France, Agathe was also weeping tears of joy. She held the brass coat button in her hand. It was glowing an actual reddish color, for the very first time.

After recovering from her emotion, she utilized her Mirror to call up Aloysius. He answered after a delay of several minutes.

"'Allo? Bonjour, Agathe dear! I'm busy, as you can see!"

"Aloysius- what are you doing?" she asked, observing through her Mirror to see the Enchanted man shrinking items in order to fit into a tiny, midnight-blue carpetbag. He sang out his spells in a melodic mix of Latin and faux-English rhyming nonsense.

"I'm busy right now, Agathe! Packing up all of my things to move. The girl, Emilie, is leaving Paris, and I am no longer useful here. I need to change my cover operation, thanks to you."

"You mean the fact I assigned her to you?"

"Precisely. I enjoyed having little to do other than give away free food and charity to lucky _Sans-Magies_ on the street. I was comfortable in my fine quarters. Now what am I going to do? Where am I to go to stay in close contact with this girl?"

"You must go on to where she will be. Perhaps you can show up as a member of that noble family's cook staff?"

"But I would have to go there, and interview, and be hired, don't I? And I'm not a cook! I'm just an old magic man, unimpressive in appearance when one doesn't know of my powers."

"Alter the memories of those who hire staff. Let them believe you've always been there as their cook. It's the easiest thing to do," Agathe suggested. "Watch Emilie through your Mirror, and when you have the location of her new home, go ahead and project yourself there."

"Very well then. I will let you go and keep watch of her. Enjoy your little vacation, Agathe dear. _Adieu_!"

" _Adieu_." Agathe hung up her end of the communication, and took a comfortable seat to observe Luc Avenant. At the moment, he was outdoors in the light of day for the first time in months. He was sitting in a cab carriage next to a young man, laughing and conversing. After some time, they disembarked the cab and went to a modest building, greeting a plainly-dressed young woman in an apron. The woman hugged and kissed Luc's friend, while Luc observed them with an awkward smile. She then turned to Luc and hugged him in a warm greeting. All was well with him- so far.

Agathe wanted to do something to reward him for his progress. Whispering a spell, she gave him the blessing of restored health and physical strength. Though she felt the urge to heal his facial scars, she decided that it wasn't the best choice at the moment.

"True beauty is found from within," she reminded herself, cradling Gaston Legume's old coat button in her fingers, feeling its warmth. It was still glowing a rosy hue.

...


	12. The Marquis' Estate

Chapter 12- The Marquis' Estate

…

"This place is a mess," Luc muttered in disappointment. He and Jean had arrived at the Marquis de Brugmaine's crumbling, inherited mansion. The once grand-looking building was falling apart. Cracks had formed in the stonework, the wood trim was rotted, and the so called 'gardens' were nothing but bare branches and brambles poking from a light dusting of winter frost.

"That's why he wants us here to fix it three weeks before he comes to stay," replied Jean in sunny optimism. "Wonder if the lady servants have settled in yet. There's smoke coming from the chimney, and that means a fireplace and maybe even food. Clémence traveled with the other women yesterday, so she's here!" he exclaimed. "Let's go in."

Luc and Jean walked several paces behind the two other workers they'd traveled with. The middle-aged fellows had kept to themselves on the ride out of Paris. Jean had tried to share a few friendly words with the two, but to his surprise, they snubbed both him and Luc.

Other than those men and their unfriendliness, the trip was a wonderful change of scenery. Open spaces, a forest bordering the mansion's gardens where the Marquis planned to go on fox hunts, and a frozen river not far away. The two men breathed in the clean, crisp air; the smell of pine trees and wood smoke from the chimney above energized them. They ascended a short flight of stone steps and followed the other men into the warmth of the front room.

Clémence rushed past the others to greet her husband, wrapping him in an embrace. " _Mon chere,_ I'm so glad you're here!" she exclaimed. "And Luc! I'm glad you've decided to join us!" she added, her eyes shifting to him in somewhat nervous surprise.

"I'm glad that you're glad," Luc said with a shadow of his old smirk. Clémence was just as warm hearted as her husband. He had dinner with them just two evenings before, and had gotten to know her a little better as Jean's wife. The couple were so in love, and Luc had felt a twinge of jealousy during that dinner, envying the close relationship they shared.

They all gathered to eat some stew and bread. Workers wandered in; they quickly and informally ate lunch before returning to the work they'd started. As Luc was biting into a crusty baguette, he became aware of two other women coming down the staircase. Both were brunettes wearing matching drab, grey dresses and pinafore aprons. He tensed when he saw that it was Emilie and her sister.

"Adelaide and Emilie!" Jean welcomed them warmly.

"Hello, Jean and Clémence!" Adelaide chirped back. "Sorry we're late. We have so many endless rooms upstairs to dust and mop!"

Emilie's large brown eyes locked with Luc's for a moment, but immediately shifted away in a veiled expression of annoyance. Luc had the thought that Emilie's skin looked clearer; he didn't notice her pox scars as much. Maybe it was her hair; he'd never seen her with her long hair out of a bun or bonnet before. It was clean and silky, a lustrous dark brown with auburn highlights. A cute, girlish fringe was cut over her brow, probably an attempt to hide the worst of the scars.

He thought for a moment that instead of pox scars, she merely had freckles. He felt an urge to touch that silky hair. Lowering his head to his empty bowl, he forced himself to not look at her. His heart quickened in response to an unpleasant emotion. _Guilt_ , he reasoned. He had yelled and hollered like a madman at her, after all, and now felt like a monstrous predator for wanting to touch her hair.

The two sisters helped themselves to dinner, ignoring Luc. Adelaide noted that the long dining table was crowded with people, including Luc and Jean. She motioned to Emilie to go sit in a nearby parlor, and the two disappeared from sight.

Luc and Jean finished the last of their lunch and headed outside for a quick briefing by the head of household, a grey-bearded man with a firm but kind manner. He gave them one look up and down, and assigned them one of the toughest tasks- taking down the rotted wood trim to replace it with new lumber. They would need to use a ladder to pull it down from the second and third floors.

"Scared of heights?" Luc asked Jean with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Slightly," Jean mumbled. He craned his neck to look at the third floor gables, shading his eyes from the white overcast sky.

"Leave this to _me,_ " Luc replied with a little of his old confidence. He gripped the long ladder and climbed up to the very top, construction tools dangling from his belt.

The chill air whistled through his coat, but the cold wasn't unpleasant to him. The fragrance of the air was the best he'd ever smelled- a forest scent mingled with wood smoke, reminding him of that strange world of his pleasant dreams. The rural setting was peaceful; he could hear nothing except the voices of workers as they attended to their tasks. From his high vantage point, voices carried from farther away- even from the riverbank he overlooked.

He used a chiseling tool to pull down the rotted boards of the gables and window trim, keeping his feet steadily on the ladder while Jean pulled boards down below. When a piece of wood fell down to the ground, he shouted _"Look out!"_ to ensure that no one would be hit by the falling debris. Luc glanced back down at the ground below, to see if anyone was standing where the pieces of wood fell.

It was then that he was overtaken by an unexplainable terror; another one of those strange senses of _deja vu_ from his frequent vivid dreams. He felt the sensation of falling from a great height. He came under the illusion that the ladder he was standing was falling apart- and he himself was dropping into a deep abyss. Landing with a crash upon jagged rocks, his head and spine shattering, all of his bones breaking-

" _No_!" he shouted, losing grip on the ladder. His right foot left the rung and found nothing to steady it. The ladder began to tip.

" _Luc! Watch out_!" shouted Jean from below. His friend's voice was enough to jolt Luc back into the moment. He leaned frantically in to steady the ladder. It swung back onto the solid stone wall, hitting it with a hard thump, pinning one of Luc's hands between itself and the wall. He cursed the pain, but managed to free his hand. He grabbed and clutched both the ladder and the gable's ledge for dear life. Panting, he closed his eyes, expecting to fall.

"Luc, what happened?"

"I...I'm _fine!_ Just a slip of the ladder, that's all," he said, breathing hard. He still gripped the ladder with one hand and the ledge with the other. He let go of the ledge with caution, and found with relief that the ladder was steady again.

Those damned, freaky moments! His crazy brain was at it once more. He nonchalantly went back down to pick up the tool. As long as he stayed focused and worked on his task, he could keep his sanity and mind clear.

…

At sunset, Luc was about to turn in for the night, walking with Jean and Clémence to the upstairs rooms. As they reached the second floor, they passed the group of women, who were finished with their first day of cleaning and tidying. Among the ladies were Emilie and Adelaide.

Luc stood there awkwardly as Jean and Clémence made small talk with their cousins. He wanted to disappear, to be honest. Confronted with the same woman who had stormed out of his apartment in anger and exasperation, he was embarrassed as all hell to be here.

Emilie didn't look him in the eye, of course. She looked only at her sister, Clémence, and Jean, but barely spoke.

Adelaide- her clothes covered in dust and pieces of cobwebs- started to speak in a cheery voice, telling them about their day's work. She half-complained in a joking manner about the 'creepy and gargantuan' spiders and dead mice she'd dealt with.

"So when I took my bucket and rags into the next room, I'm thinking to myself, 'Can the spiders _possibly_ be any more horrifying?' Well...apparently my day was bound to get _much_ better! Or should I say- _worse_?"

Adelaide paused, making a sweeping gesture with her hand and making a comical face. Jean and Clémence laughed. Adelaide took a deep breath and dove back into her story, quite happy to add a bit of levity to end the tedious day.

"Because as _soon_ as I crawled to the floor by the bed, a three-inch long monstrosity comes scrambling out! I screamed bloody murder of course, as you might imagine. But Emilie was there to _save_ me! She crushed that spider with one swipe of her broom! You're the most wonderful sister _ever,_ Emilie!" Adelaide turned to Emilie and gave her the sweetest smile, putting her arm around her sister while all four of them laughed.

Luc, meanwhile, felt out of place, like an ugly bunion on one's foot. There to be tolerated until it could be rid of. He stood with his arms crossed, a polite smile on his face.

Jean and Clémence bid Luc and the sisters _adieu,_ and headed to the next staircase landing. Luc remembered, rather stupidly, that the married couple had a bedroom to themselves on the topmost attic floor. He would have to share a communal room with the single men, here on the second floor, and was left standing alone with the two sisters.

"Well, um, good night Monsieur," Adelaide said to him quietly. Her voice was so diminished compared to her spirited, 'dramatic-storyteller' air from the moments before.

Her personality had certainly lit up the room when Jean and Clémence were there. Luc found himself admiring her spunk and sunshine, combined with the caring and kindness she showed to her sister. But since Luc was now alone with Adelaide and Emilie, his presence seemed to suck the spirit out of both of them. They looked at him with sad, serious eyes. Laughter died when he was around, it seemed.

"Good night ladies," he muttered in the humblest voice possible. His gaze dropped to Adelaide's dust and soot-stained apron covering her full, generous hips, then to Emilie's much smaller one, also stained with fireplace soot. The thought came to him that Emilie was just too little, too delicate to be doing such rigorous work. Neither of them, really. These girls seemed out of place here. They deserved care and pampering. Not hardship like this.

His eye moved slowly up to their faces. Even though they looked very different- the older one plump and curly-haired while the younger one slender with spots- they both shared soft eyes and intelligent gazes. Adelaide had a slight overbite and a few pimple scars on her fleshy chin. Emilie had pox marks and a sad, resigned expression on her countenance, weary of life and illness, yet a survivor. Luc wanted so badly to get to know both of them better; especially Emilie, the sketch artist whom he had offended and driven away with his craziness. But it was not to be.

Neither of these precious souls deserved him. No fellowship, no platonic sisterly friendship. And _much_ less any faint chance of love. He felt like a sinful blight upon them, even for the fact he dared to stand three feet away from them.

 _No one_ _deserved him._ Luc turned to leave, painfully aware of that sad fact.

"Monsieur?"

He turned around. Adelaide had bustled off, but Emilie stayed put.

"Yes?" he asked in a light, inquisitive tone.

"About...the other day," said Emilie. "It was rude and unbecoming for me to run off like that. I should have stayed instead of starting a quarrel. I know you were suffering...I was worried you might have harmed yourself after that. I'm sorry."

"You're too _good_ to waste time with me," Luc said softly. "You deserve a treasure of gold coins for even _trying_ to come to my place and cook meals for somebody like me. _I_ deserve to be the one cleaning up spider webs and dust. I behaved badly. The yelling, the...I'm terribly sorry," he said, forcing the last words out.

"Your apology is accepted if you accept mine," said Emilie.

"Oh. Well...all right, then. I _do_. But you did nothing _wrong._ I promise you won't see me here much. I'll be doing the construction outside, we have a big task on our hands. I promise I'll leave you and your sister alone-"

"There's no need for that."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Luc said darkly.

"You're Jean's friend. He thinks highly of you, so I'd much rather we be friends, too."

He shrugged, unsure what to say. She stepped closer to him and held out her hand. "So are we friends now?"

He took her small hand and shook it. "Yes, mademoiselle, I would like that. And as I said, I'm truly sorry-"

"It's all right," she said, a smile playing on her face. She looked so endearing and small in the dimness of evening, with her long hair flowing down her shoulders. Mens' voices came from beyond the closed doors.

"This is the mens' floor. Would you like me to, um, escort you to the women's rooms upstairs?" he asked, his voice brighter and less stilted.

"I don't mind. Thank you," Her manner was warmer now, the same as how she'd been that day when she showed him her drawings. Luc walked with Emilie upstairs; she showed him to the door where she indicated the room she shared with her sister and another lady.

"Good night, Monsieur...Luc. I can't remember your surname, only your given."

"It's 'Avenant.' But I kind of _like_ being called 'Monsieur Luc.' It makes me sound like a teacher of children, which I could never be." He gave an awkward laugh.

"Jean said you were good with his little brothers. Perhaps you would be a good father someday."

He shrugged, and made a quizzical face. "Perhaps."

Emilie smiled. "Good night, Monsieur Luc."

She opened the door and joined her sister. A candle was burning dimly inside the room, and the animalistic part of Luc fought the mental image of ladies in there; soon taking their day clothes off, all the stockings and pantalettes and white camisoles they'd be doffing, the light cotton nightgowns they'd be slipping into, the hair being loosened from buns and braids. He walked quickly, to get himself out of the womens' dormitories as fast as he possibly could. He craved alcohol again.

He could smell whiskey and cigar smoke when he came into the bedroom and heard two men snoring, already asleep on their bunks. It was the two not-very-friendly men they'd ridden from Paris with; their names were Roland and Lavasseur. He was quite glad they were sleeping, because he wouldn't need to attempt to socialize with them.

…

Far away, Agathe was relaxing in her cabin in the forest near the Prince's castle. She felt something warm in her dress pocket, like a heated rock. It was Gaston's brass button. She took it out and saw that it was glowing a brighter red than it had before.

"The cold, selfish heart is melting, I see," she whispered to herself with a smile.

...

For the next three days, the estate's crew and staff stayed very busy with their assigned tasks. Luc, Jean and the other men had been busy with the maintenance and construction work, while the women worked on tidying and redecorating the house to the Marquis' and his family's tastes.

They hadn't much time to socialize except for mealtimes, when Luc, Jean, Clémence, Adelaide and Emilie sat together. The five of them looked forward to eating, sharing their frustrations, as well as good humor. Even Luc was beginning to warm up and show his old charming personality, bragging good-naturedly of his abilities and speed. But unlike before, it wasn't of arrogance. Luc was still strong and efficient and fast. It was a fact which the head of household had even praised him for. He just liked to tease Jean about being the best, and Jean didn't mind.

On the fourth day at the estate, Emilie and Adelaide were walking outdoors to the riverbank through a wooded trail. "Adelaide, we can't be out here for long. Madame Chambon wants the dining room mopped and some bed linens mended by Sunday. We can't waste time," Emilie warned.

"Pierre said he'd be here alone, catching some fish beneath the ice," Adelaide said cheerfully, wrapping her woolen shawl around her. She was clutching some bread wrapped up in a cloth, hoping to deliver it to her latest crush, a young fellow recently hired to tend to the mansion's horse stables, carriages and wagons. "Besides, today is a nice day. After cleaning all that filth and dealing with those monstrous spiders, all I ask is to be _outside,_ for just a little bit!" she exclaimed, with an exasperated sigh. "I look terrible though. I wish I had my makeup. I actually miss Lady Evangeline, and her vanity table and toilette _._ I miss the smell of perfume, and tying her ribbons. I'm a lady's maid. Meant for touching _lace,_ not nasty cobwebs-"

"In other words, you miss _borrowing_ things from her toilette. You don't _need_ makeup, Adelaide," Emilie laughed. "But you do need to follow Madame Chambon's orders. I don't want to get in trouble if we are gone too long."

"I hope he didn't leave already." Adelaide squinted, shading her eyes as she glanced from one end of the frozen creek to the other. They soon heard some footsteps; the sound of crunching ice and snow in the trees.

Two men came from the forest; the large, middle aged fellows who had accompanied Luc and Jean from Paris earlier in the day. They eyed the girls sternly.

"What are _you_ doing out here?" one of them demanded. "You women belong in the house, doing the house chores!"

"May I ask why _you're_ here?" Adelaide replied in what Emilie thought was a too-sassy manner. "I thought you two were hired for construction. Wandering about the woods doesn't exactly _look_ like construction, so you...um, _Monsieur?_ "

Her eyes widened and her impish manner sobered. "W-why do you have a knife and a rope?"

Emilie shuddered, wishing Adelaide would obey the head maid for once. She knew they ought to have stayed in the house. These men looked downright menacing. One had a knife in his belt, and the other held a length of rope.

"We were hunting," The second man chuckled, giving her a vicious grin and withdrawing his knife from his belt. "We were going to set some traps for furs, but instead we've stumbled upon some _other_ fine prey. Roland, what d'you think? We haven't touched womenfolk for months! I'm taking a claim on mouthy Miss Curly-Hair here."

"Then I'll take the skinny little one," grinned the first man, bearing some missing teeth as he eyed Emilie greedily.

Emilie froze still in her tracks before deciding to bolt and run. But the moment she did, she heard Adelaide's muffled scream- and a thud. She turned and saw her sister being wrestled to the ground by the burly, ruddy faced man in the brown coat, while kicking and trying to fight him off with all her strength.

"You miserable wench!" the man growled, after Adelaide tore at his eye with her fingernails.

Emilie silently cheered on her sister, who was more robust and likely stronger than she was. She could fight if she was forced to. But the man pulled out his knife blade and aimed it at poor Adelaide's face. She whimpered in terror.

Emilie was unable to act. The man in the grey coat had caught up to her.

He grabbed both of her arms and held her in a violent grip, fiddling with the rope he had in his pocket. Emilie screamed and kicked her booted foot backwards, feeling as if she were in some sort of a surreal nightmare. She fell to the cold icy ground, but not before she cried out 'Stop! _Stop!_ ' as loudly as she could.

He shoved her down violently; her head hit a tree root, and she fell unconscious.

...


	13. Battle

Chapter 13- Battle

...

"Paquet, did you hear something?" Luc called down from his perch atop the ladder.

"No, did you?" Jean replied from below.

A moment later, they both heard a voice, much louder this time. It sounded like a distressed scream coming from the riverbank not far away.

"It's one of the women!" Luc exclaimed, alarmed. He could hear the voice much more clearly from the tall height, and had a fairly good idea where it was coming from. "I'm going down!"

He clambered down the ladder, leaping from the fifth rung, and ran across the mansion's grounds to the wooded area leading to the river. After running through a forest trail, he was confronted by a terrible sight which made his blood run cold.

Emilie and Adelaide were on the ground, having been wrestled down by Roland and Lavassieur. Roland held a knife to Adelaide's throat. Lavassieur was trying to tie Emilie's hands together with a rope. She appeared to be knocked unconscious.

Rage and indignant horror seared Luc's brain. Those two aimless deadbeats were trying to hurt his dear friends! Helpless _women_!

Adrenaline surged through his body and rational thought left him as he rushed to Lavassieur.

He yanked him off of Emilie from behind. Grabbing the collar of the man's shirt, he hoisted him upward and landed a sharp blow to his jaw with his fist. The thug tumbled to the ground, groaning as he tried to get up again.

Lavassieur, a savage determination on his face, tried to strike Luc with the looped-up rope in his hands, using it as a whip. Luc took hold the rope and swiftly wound it around Lavassieur's neck. He grabbed the man around the shoulders with one arm, pulling the rope tighter until his face began to turn red. Ghastly choking noises emitted from his throat; his eyes grew bulging and bloodshot.

"Giving you a choice! Either surrender to me, or _die_!" Luc hissed in the man's ear as he loosened the rope just a bit.

"N-no.. _.please_!" he gasped once he had enough air to speak.

Luc loosened the rope. Once Lavassieur was free, he punched the man in the face once again, knocking him to the ground. He sensed someone behind him and felt the sharp tip of a knife on his back. Turning around, he faced Roland, whose face was reminiscent of a mad bulldog's with his lips pulled back threateningly.

" _Trying to kill me, are you, old man?_ " Luc called out. He grabbed wildly at the knife. Stinging pain made him growl as the blade sliced through the palm of his hand.

Adelaide screamed- an angry and indignant cry. Luc's attention was diverted to her, as he feared for her safety. She ran up to Roland from behind, beating at his back with her fists. Roland turned around to face her, distracted.

This gave Luc a better opportunity to try to take the knife. He lunged with his uninjured left hand to Roland's elbow, but was unsuccessful in disarming him.

" _Luc! What-_ -"

Jean had arrived. He ran straight to Emilie and knelt over her, trying to get her to come to consciousness. Lavassieur was sprawled on the ground nearby, moaning, massaging his rope-burned neck. He eyed Jean angrily, trying to get back to his feet to attack him.

"Jean!" Luc commanded. "Watch out!"

Jean looked to see his would-be attacker creeping up behind him, the rope still wound halfway around his neck. He stood and shielded himself from Lavassieur's attempted punch. The two began to wrestle, not far from where Emilie still lay unconscious.

" _Emilie_!" screamed Adelaide, her cheeks wet with tears, damp hair covering her eyes. Roland tried to strike at her with his knife, but Luc grabbed his arm around the elbow and yanked him back, causing him to stumble and fall backwards.

He was about to give Roland a few good blows to the face- the pain of his own cut hand sparking a mad lust for revenge- before going for possession of the knife once more.

But the sight of Jean losing his fight with Lavassieur distracted him yet again. The other thug had Jean pinned to the ground, striking the smaller man brutally with repeated blows to the nose.

Luc rushed to Jean's aid. He roughly pulled Lavassieur off his friend and hurled him to the side, kicking him in the rib for good measure.

He heard Adelaide screaming, " _No_!" Luc turned and saw the woman backed up against a tree trunk. Roland still wielded his knife.

Luc regretted not succeeding in taking it from him before. Adelaide held a broken-off tree branch in her hands, waving it like a sword. She struck her attacker in the head with impressive force as he inched closer to her.

Roland, growling in anger, caught hold of the other end of the tree branch and used it to poke her in the stomach with a rough jab. She dropped it, a grimace of pain on her face.

Roland raised his knife to her. Adelaide stretched her hand out to fend off the blow.

Luc's heart rate rose in a terror of his own. He _couldn't_ let her die! He _couldn't_ fail! It was now, or never.

He took two great leaps and dove between Roland and Adelaide, using his body to shield her. He felt the knife slicing his skin through the layers of his coat and shirt, pain searing his back as he fell to the ground.

Roland was knocked back. In nearly slow motion, Luc's brain registered the blood-tipped knife falling out of Roland's hand to the ground. Luc was just about to reach over and pick it up-

" _What's going on_?" a new, male voice bellowed angrily. It was Monsieur Valois, the Marquis' project supervisor. Luc's new boss.

He must have heard the commotion and cries from the gardens, and had finally arrived. The man stood there in shock, observing the chaos of five people lying on the ground, and a sixth, Adelaide, the only one standing. She was hyperventilating and sobbing as she stood against the tree trunk. M. Valois' eyes swept over the battered Jean and Emilie, who was finally coming to, her eyes opening. He saw Lavassieur and Roland both moaning in pain, and Luc on all fours with his torn, bloody clothes. A blood-tipped knife lay on the ground.

Luc lumbered back on his feet, locking pained eyes with M. Valois as he became more aware of his sliced-up back and right hand. When he placed his hand on his knee to steady himself, he left a bloody print on his trousers. He grimaced.

"Monsieur-" he panted- "they were attacking the ladies! Jean and I tried our best to stop them-"

"He almost strangled me to death with a rope!" accused a bruised-up Lavassieur, pointing to Luc.

"That's a lie!" screamed an angry Adelaide. "You hurt my sister, and _you_ almost killed me!" she accused Roland.

Emilie was blinking in confusion as she woke up, holding the back of her head. Jean sat comforting her, despite his own face being battered and bloodied.

"Roland and Lavassieur, I should have _known_ not to trust you!" declared M. Valois in angry disappointment. "I was trying to give you a second chance, but now it's back to prison with both of you!"

He glanced back at Luc, and surveyed the knife and the rope. "Thank you for what you've done. Please, if you can, gentlemen, help me to tie up their hands. We'll have to bring them down to the basement, until the authorities come to take them into custody."

Luc and Jean did as asked. To their relief, the two thugs did not fight them back any longer. M. Valois escorted the two injured criminals back to the house. Their backs were slumped over, and they didn't seem to be giving the boss any fight. Luc observed them for a moment, prepared to help while trying to ignore the increasing pain.

Jean had ripped off a piece of his own shirt to wipe his bloody face. When he saw Luc's hand injury, he ripped off another piece to bandage it. As soon as the cloth was wrapped around Luc's hand, he went back to where Emilie was lying on the frosty ground. Adelaide was kneeling next to her.

"Luc, she said the back of her head hurts. I think she was knocked out for a while," she told him. " _Mon Dieu,_ you've been hurt badly. You need to get to the medic soon!"

"Adelaide?" Emilie asked, trying to focus on the people over and around her and find her sister. Adelaide stroked her sister's hair in response. "Does it hurt anywhere else?" she asked.

"Just my head," Emilie whispered.

"Luc, you need medical attention right now!" Jean exclaimed, observing the cut through his coat and shirt; the blood spreading. "We need to try to walk back. Let's help each other. I'm sure the boss will send for someone to come for us, but we don't have time to wait. Luc, can you walk?"

"It stings, but I can walk. He was nothing but a clumsy fool with that knife," Luc said, hissing in pain. He could feel the cut across the top of his back, and could only move hunched over. He gritted his teeth to will the pain away.

"Emilie, I'm going to lift you up. Please tell me if it hurts you," Luc directed to the injured and confused girl.

"All right," Emilie whispered. He carefully scooped her up and lifted her into his arms, groaning as his back screamed in agony. Emilie saw his face contort with obvious strain.

"I think I can walk, Monsieur Luc. Please let me try," she implored him.

"You don't want me to carry you?"

"You're too injured. Don't risk it. My head feels fuzzy, but I think I can make it."

Adelaide sidled next to her sister as Luc reluctantly set her back on her feet. Despite her own injuries, Adelaide supported both Luc and Emilie on her shoulders as they all walked slowly, painfully back to the mansion.

They heard a carriage and horses running at full speed, but it faded away. It was surely a messenger headed to Paris, to inform the authorities of Roland and Lavassieur's crimes. They had hoped for someone with a wagon to come to their aid, but none came at the moment. The four had to help each other.

…

Back in the mansion that evening, everyone's wounds were treated by the medic, Monsieur Dupre. Emilie had suffered a concussion and would need to stay in bed for some time. Luc had a long knife-wound across the skin of his back, which was bandaged and salved. His hand was salved and re-bandaged as well. He would have to wait several days for the wounds to heal and scab over before he could work again. The thought incensed him.

Jean had a bloody and beaten nose and jaw. He was given some brandy and sent to bed, to sleep with a bag of ice.

Adelaide had multiple bruises and minor cuts all over her body, where she'd been knocked down and poked in the torso with the tree branch in her battle with Roland.

While Emilie lay in bed and Luc stubbornly sat in a chair beside her, refusing to go to the men's rooms, Adelaide came into the room. She regarded Luc in pleased surprise, her eyes welling in emotion.

"Monsieur Luc...thank you. For saving our lives."

He shrugged. "It was nothing, really. I saw what was going on, and I just snapped. Thank God I didn't murder either of them, though I would have _wanted_ to kill."

"You're not a killer. You-" Adelaide hiccuped and choked back tears. "You're a _hero_."

"Thank you, Adelaide," Luc replied, shrugging and lowering his head before giving her a slight smirk. "You weren't so bad yourself, either."

"I wanted to maim that man silly. If only I could have! I should've fought harder."

Madame Chambon, the head maid, came in and chided Adelaide to lie down in her bed and get some rest.

"Madame Chambon, everything that happened was all my fault," Adelaide said regretfully. "I disobeyed you because I wanted to go for a walk outside, and I made Emilie come along! I ought to be dismissed for this."

"My dear, none of you will be dismissed," Mme. Chambon assured. "If it weren't for all of you, we wouldn't have known we had two vile criminals hired to our staff!"

Despite the pain in her head, Emilie tried to sit up to see her sister and Mme. Chambon to speak to them. Luc's left, uninjured hand lay lightly on her foot, which was poking out from beneath the covers. He gave it a gentle pat, bidding her to stay down.

Madame Chambon examined a nasty little cut on the side of Adelaide's neck. "You poor little things. I don't understand how there can be so much evil in this world. But thank the good Lord for Monsieur Luc. You are a godsend!" exclaimed Madame Chambon. "If it weren't for _you-_ -"

"He saved our lives!" Adelaide cried out once more. " _Mon Dieu_ , I've never _seen_ a man attack the way Monsieur Luc did! He was like a beast! A wild lion. Those horrible monsters deserved it! It's still my fault, though. Madame, I'm so sorry-"

"Get some rest, my dear. Good night," Madame Chambon calmed her, before walking out of the room.

When she left, Adelaide got back out of bed and leaned down toward Luc where he sat on the small chair at the foot of Emilie's bed. She gave him a careful half-hug around his shoulders. She then moved to Emilie and kissed her sister on the forehead.

"You go to sleep soon, dear sister. You've got quite the bump."

Emilie gazed up into her sister's caring eyes. "I will," she replied. "I'm sorry they hurt all of you. Luc, you _are_ our hero."

Luc hung his head in modesty. "Jean helped fight one of them, too."

"Yes, he did. Clémence is so proud, and glad he's alive," said Adelaide.

They all were silent for several minutes; Luc watching over Emilie with an almost heartbroken expression.

"You look...sad," Emilie said to him, her gaze gentle and compassionate. It caused his heart to jolt and his eyes to sting with a nearly unrecognizable emotion.

 _She actually cares?_

He tried to sweep away and dismiss that incredible thought, replacing it with righteous rage for their attackers. "They were going to kill you both," he replied darkly.

"But they didn't."

"No...because Iwouldn't allow it."

"Thank you again," Emilie whispered, bringing him back into the moment. He caught her gaze and saw her lips turn up in a soft smile. His good hand lazily wrapped itself around Emilie's foot, clad in a woolen stocking. He stroked it absentmindedly with his thumb, massaging it. After a moment, he pulled his hand away.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be touching you," he said, looking abashedly at Adelaide, then back at Emilie. "Forgive me."

"I didn't mind. That felt nice," Emilie replied softly before her sister could answer. "I don't think I've had my foot massaged since I was a child."

Luc shrugged. "All right. But only to help your head pain go away," he said in a gruff mumble. He gripped her foot and ran his thumb across it, watching her yawn, close her eyes, and relax against the pillow.

A candle illuminated the room just slightly. Luc reluctantly stood up to leave to the mens' quarters. "Good night, ladies."

"Good night. You're a gift to this world, Monsieur. We can't thank you enough," Adelaide said in sincere admiration.

Luc's eyes began to sting again. Women had given him admiration and compliments in the past, certainly. But none were as precious as this. They weren't praising him for any good looks, charm, or ability.

They were praising _him._ His character. His _soul._

Luc fought the tender emotions as he shrugged his shoulders, gave both sisters a polite nod, and went out of the room to check on Jean before turning in.

He remembered his friend was married. Jean would be occupying a room in one of the upper floors with his wife. Clémence was surely comforting him, snuggling next to him, probably fussing over him to keep the canteen of melting ice on his face. Crying in relief, that he was still alive and had fought back.

 _Jean would be well cared for,_ he thought.

He shuffled to one of the rooms where he found the unoccupied bunk bed, formerly Roland and Levassieur's. On the other bunk sat a new man whom Luc wasn't sure he'd met before, but seemed vaguely familiar. This man was at least a decade older than him, wearing baggy pajamas and night robe. He was lazily smoking a pipe.

" _Bonjour_! Are you my, _ahem_ \- what is it called- roomie?" the man asked him with a smile.

" _Oui,_ " Luc said, nodding. "I'm going to sleep. Is someone taking this bunk?" he asked, pointing to the upper one above the man. He had no interest in taking the one that had been used by the thugs.

"My name is Monsieur Guérisseur. I'm going to help with cooking."

"Well...good!" Luc grinned a little, hoping his 'roomie' would drop his conversation and snuff out his pipe so they could turn in.

"And what is _your_ name?" M. Guérisseur asked as he extinguished his pipe. "I've heard tell you've had quite a challenging day."

" _Quite_ ," Luc replied with a smirk. "Luc Avenant is my name." He lumbered up to the upper bunk with strain and flopped down, wincing at the bandaged cut across his back and his sliced hand. " _Bon nuit_ ," he mumbled before dozing off.

Aloysius Armand Guérisseur smiled to himself, stroking his salt-and-pepper mustache and beard. He had changed his appearance to that of an unremarkable-looking, mid to late-forties man rather than an elderly peddler. He hoped he'd fit in with the kitchen staff and try to cook like a _Sans-Magie,_ without the aid of magic.

When Luc was sound asleep, Aloysius went downstairs to the dark, empty parlor and hid behind a staircase. He took out his Magic Mirror to call Agathe.

"Aloysius, look! The button!" Agathe exclaimed once he'd made contact.

"What are you talking about?"

The Enchantress was holding a small object to her own Mirror so he could see. It was a coat button, glowing a bright red, brighter than she'd ever seen.

"Something good has happened!" exclaimed Agathe. "He's committed a selfless act! I tried not to observe him today, for fear of wanting to go and intervene too soon. Did you find out the details?"

"It is true, Agathe. He saved some lives today. The man is being hailed as a hero."

" _C'est merveilleux_!" Agathe exclaimed in joy. "Now remember, do not do a _single_ spell of magic, at least not in front of them. I just want you to help Emilie along. And her sister as well. So much bravery I see in her."

"I wish I could heal their injuries, though. And where are _you,_ Agathe?" asked Aloysius.

"I'm in the castle visiting Prince Adam tonight," she whispered. Agathe appeared to be in a very dark room.

"Haven't you worn out your welcome with him?"

"No. I've made amends with him, and Princess Belle, and the servants. I've had to right a lot of wrongs...I know I misused my magic in a dangerous manner," she said with a sigh. "And after we've talked, I decided I am going to leave here again and return to where you are. I'll see you again soon."

"Now don't _you_ come here and start misusing magic-" Aloysius chided, but she suddenly hung up on him.

At that moment, Agathe was in the castle's kitchen, at the hour of one in the morning. She assumed everyone had gone to bed, but then she heard noises and had to cut Aloysius off.

People were still awake and tiptoeing through the hallways; two servants had come down into the kitchens to take something from the larder. Agathe heard one of the stoves lit up, water being poured, and a mischievous laugh. It was a pair of young men, Agathe guessed. She turned off her Mirror and crouched low.

When they went back upstairs, Agathe could smell chocolate. The two late-night wanderers had wanted to make themselves cups of hot cocoa in the middle of the night. She heard them laughing and whispering until they reached the upper floor.

Agathe whispered a spell, and magically transported herself from the dark kitchens to her own cozy cottage.

She'd changed her mind about going near Luc and Aloysius and the women. Instead, she would lay low for awhile, relaxing alone and studying the books of Magical law and ethics. Her days of intervening with _Sans-Magies_ ought to be over for good, she reasoned. She'd be much better off using her experiences to teach.

...

 _Many thanks again to TrudiRose for another beta read on this chapter! :)_


	14. The Noble Family's Arrival

Chapter 14- The Noble Family's Arrival

…

" _Ahh_ , Paquet. The cold air is so invigorating. Makes me feel like a new man! Don't you think so?" Luc asked his friend while they worked.

"It's a little cold on my cheeks, but I'll survive. One more hour until the ladies put on hot tea and vegetable soup!" Jean replied cheerfully.

"Same thing as always," Luc laughed. "Well, if you're starving, you can't be choosy."

Weeks had now passed after the incident with the two attackers, who'd been tried in Paris and sent back to prison. Winter still plodded on, and though the calendar said late March, the frost and chill remained. The food supply in the mansion was getting low; it had been reduced to fresh-caught fish and last year's vegetables.

Luc and Jean were fully recovered from the fight and were glad to be back at work. This day, the two construction men were busy mortaring and laying stonework on the mansion's main outer chimney. The chimney was at least five feet wide; it connected with fireplaces on all four floors. It was imperative that it be repaired, in order to keep the Marquis, his family, and the staff warm.

The Marquis was due to arrive in only two days. The estate was to be his spring and summer home, but he had decided to move in before spring started. It was said that he was fearful of the smallpox in Paris, and wanted to get his family out of the city.

As for Luc, he had recovered from the fight, and his sickness the previous autumn. People liked and admired him here, not only because he had fought and rescued Emilie and Adelaide from two would-be rapists or killers, but because his hard work ethic and take-charge personality drew the other workers and earned their respect.

Some of the workers- Jean especially- thought Luc had better leadership ability than the head of household M. Valois did. Valois was absent often, and when he was around, he'd bark orders and leave again. Luc knew it was his duty to obey his command, just as if he were a soldier in the military. He owed his life to M. Valois for giving him a job and taking him out of squalor. It seemed like a nightmare, looking back.

Luc and Jean descended their ladders some time later and went inside the fragrant kitchen for a short lunch. Emilie was there, pouring tea and putting bowls of oniony vegetable soup on the tables. Her warm smile and kind manner was the one thing that Luc looked forward to seeing every mealtime; though with the business of their tasks they rarely had a chance to speak. They locked gazes, said ' _Bonjour'_ and the usual pleasantries, but soon the half hour was passed and Luc and Jean had to continue on the chimney.

That evening, Luc turned down his pal Victor's invitation of a whiskey-soaked card game in the men's quarters to join Monsieur Guérrisser in the galley kitchen. He'd hoped to find Emilie there, have an excuse to talk to her if she was still tidying up for the night.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Luc. Why aren't you upstairs after such a long day?" the kind cook and dishwasher asked. He was alone; the rest of the cooks and maids had retired to bed.

"No one's sleeping yet in my wing," Luc replied. "They have a rowdy game of poker going on, everyone drinking and I, um, _can't_. One of them's certain to gamble away his day's earnings. You know, _bachelors_ ," he added with a smirk and dismissive wave of his hand. "Quieter down here...mind if I scrub pots with you?"

"I don't mind at all. I'm a bit behind every night on this," the galley servant replied. Luc began to scrub up a large soup tureen, watching as Monsieur Guérrisser wiped his pans with awkward and clumsy hands.

"Are you alright?" Luc asked, trying hard not to roll his eyes. The man seemed to be getting nowhere. He'd been washing and washing, but the pans were still not clean.

"I have a touch of arthritis," Guérrisser replied. "It just takes me a little longer to get things done nowadays."

"Oh. I hope you get better," Luc replied. "When _I'm_ working, I still have a bit of soreness in my back from when I took down those rank cowardly monsters! Saving the ladies' lives with my own impressive-"

M. Guérrisser was giving Luc a somewhat annoyed look. "You sure like to toot your own horn, don't you, son?" he asked him.

Luc's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what that means."

Guérrisser sighed and shook his head, as if Luc were a dumb pupil and he was his teacher. "It means you seem to have a high opinion of your abilities. We already _know_ of your strength and bravery."

"Oh. Of course. I beg your pardon." Luc said simply and continued scrubbing. Of _course_ everyone already knew about Luc's brave but dangerous deed. Everyone had thanked him many times over for it, and if he 'tooted his own horn' too much, he might lose their respect. He did not want that to happen.

Besides, a niggling guilt had been eating at him lately about another blunder in judgment he had made. _Aunt Agathe._

He didn't know where she was, or what she was doing. For all this talk of the smallpox-she could have succumbed to it after all, and if so, it was Luc's fault. Not for having the disease. For failing to seek her out and ensure her welfare before he followed Jean to pursue a new job.

While he was lost in worried thought, his hands busy with the tub of warm water and the onion-scented pot, Luc noticed that Guérrisser was frustrated with making his dishrag work again. He watched the man reach into his apron pocket to grab something, searching through it, finding it empty. He gave Luc an embarrassed look before taking his hand out of his empty pocket.

"Did you lose something?"

"My...wristwatch."

"It must be about eleven at night...Monsieur, what is your first name again? I think since you and I have shared a room for weeks, I ought to be reminded. It sounds too formal to always call you 'Monsieur Guérrisser'."

"It's Aloysius."

"That's strange," said Luc. "A relative of my aunt...and I suppose my own, has that name. A fellow who peddled rotten fruit in my old neighborhood. I need to find him and ask what my aunt is doing. I've been thinking about her. I'm honestly worried. She...she could be dead."

"Why do you think she is dead?"

Luc put the clean soup tureen on a drying cloth, and stared ahead with a faraway and disturbed gaze.

"My Aunt Agathe is old and frail. She was trying to get some charity help, because I had smallpox last fall and couldn't bring in money. I haven't seen her since December." He sighed, balling up his dishrag in a tight fist. "Never got to say goodbye. Guess I thought she knew what she was doing, but I left Paris without looking for her first. If she _is_ dead..."

Aloysius was quiet for a moment. "What if I told you...I knew her as well?" he asked tentatively.

"You? How could _you_ know my aunt? Did you live in the Second Quartier on Septième Rue? She never strayed far from her home, at least from what I remember."

" _Oui_ , I did. I lived on Septième Rue, as recently as a month ago."

Luc laid the pan and rag down, and scratched his head. "Funny thing is...as close as we supposedly were, how she raised me growing up- I don't even remember what her _surname_ was. Why is it that the _one_ relative who took care of me in place of a parent for years-" He sighed in frustration. "I know _so_ _little_ about her, that I couldn't tell you her full name. How can that be?"

"You cannot? Hmm. Well, sometimes children think of their parent, or guardian in your case, only in terms of what they do for _them,_ as self-focused children often do. They fail to find out more about them as _people._ Perhaps you did the same, in your youthful ignorance?"

"Probably." He shrugged. "So, how do _you_ know Aunt Agathe?"

"We often spoke in the neighborhood. I lived on her street, a few blocks away. We all knew Agathe. A poor woman, a spinster, but one with so much inner strength and dignity in herself. She mentioned a nephew. You must be him."

"I am."

"And I can assure you that she is doing well. I saw her last month. She was healthy and happy, and that's all that I can say."

"Is she back home?" Luc asked.

"No. She found a situation somewhere else," replied Aloysius.

"A _situation_? You mean work? She couldn't be able to work. She must be over seventy years old...and God help me, I don't even know her actual age-"

"Believe me, she is fine. I think it might be a job sewing," Aloysius reassured him.

"That makes sense...she was always sewing things. Thank you, Aloysius! I'm glad I met you. It's...it just amazes me how fate puts certain people in your path! And _you're_ here to let me know that my aunt is safe and well." Luc beamed at him; a satisfied, relieved smile.

"You're welcome."

"So, if you live on Septieme Rue, in that general neighborhood-" Luc pressed, "have you ever _met_ the other man named Aloysius? It's an unusual name. I mean, frankly, it's not a _normal_ name, like my own name, or Jean, or Pierre. No offense," he added lightly.

Aloysius laughed. "No it isn't. And yes, I know good old Aloysius. A little touched in the head, isn't he?"

"Indeed. He dressed in rags, I mean, I _know_ what it's like being poor, but he pushed that fruit cart around as if it were a real job. Everyone knew it wasn't. I would bet he didn't make a _sou_ in a year, and his fruit looked horribly unappetizing."

"Agree, but he was truly brilliant underneath it all. Did you know that oranges and limes, and other sorts of fruits, prevent scurvy?"

"What's 'scurvy?'"

"A disease. Fruits and vegetables are the best foods to prevent some kinds of ailments. That is what Old Aloysius always said, and no one believed him. Have you felt better and stronger since you arrived here?"

"Yes. Very much. I think it's the fresh country air. I was able to recover from that injury incredibly fast. Got all my strength back to work."

"And what foods have you been eating lately?"

"The cheapest kind, of course. What's remaining in storage from last year's gardens. Way too many vegetable soups and beans. I like the fish, though. You cook it well!" Luc added, as he realized he'd been grumbling over the limited fare.

"Not me, Monsieur Luc. Adelaide and Emilie and the other three ladies cook it. I've been demoted to dishwasher, due to my inabilities."

"I keep hearing Adelaide say she can't _wait_ until the Marquis and his family are here, because _they_ won't settle for eating like country mice," Luc recalled lightheartedly.

"And I keep telling her to be patient," said Aloysius. "In two days, they'll be here, and this place will be filled with champagne, cake, wine, and parties. And it will all trickle down to us!" Aloysius laughed. "But for now, bear with what we have."

"I will." Luc finished cleaning the last pan. "Let's call it a night, shall we?"

Aloysius nodded in exhaustion. He was too tired from trying to do things without magic to call Agathe and tell her how pleased he was that Luc was so concerned for her welfare.

…

Two days later, the Marquis Antoine Phillipe de Brugmaine, his wife the Marquess Marie-Juliette, and their twenty-one year old daughter and only child, Lady Evangeline, arrived on a grand carriage pulled by a team of sleek white horses. Footmen accompanied by the head of household, M. Valois, escorted the aristocratic family to the mansion while the entire retinue cheered.

The old Luc would have been bitterly resentful of all the attention and celebration bestowed upon 'The Master and Their Ladyships.' Of late, only M. Valois had been the man above Luc when it came to authority.

Yet he was glad. Everyone had been preparing for them to come and live here, and Luc was caught up in the gaiety and joy of it all. After observing and touring all floors of the mansion, the Marquis declared the refurbished place 'his new second home, our place of glorious repose and refuge.' He declared a new name for the estate- ' _La maison des Jacinthes,_ ' or The House of Bluebells, on account of the bluebell flowers that grew on the grounds every summer. The staff allowed them a quiet afternoon to get settled in.

After he'd thought about it a moment, Luc remembered something. What M. Valois had said to him and Jean and the other members of the construction crew months before, when they were first hired...

" _The position is temporary. When construction is over and the family arrives to make their home there, you will be reassigned. Either in the estate, or elsewhere. If the latter, I will try to see if you get another position."_

The thought made him lose the good cheer he'd had all day.

Supply carriages arrived later that day, bearing an additional crew of servants and a bounty- bags of flour, fruits, sugar, eggs, fresh beef, butter, cocoa powder, tea, and even wines and beers. Luc, of course, still suffered from the inability to consume alcohol in fear of the painful 'reaction.' He and Jean took part in unloading the bags and crates, carrying them to the larders and iceboxes. Mme. Chambon and Adelaide both squealed in delight as each item was unloaded; their giddiness made Luc, Jean, and Emilie laugh.

"Like Christmas in March, isn't it, ladies?" Luc commented.

"It's _wonderful!_ " exclaimed Adelaide. "I've been literally _starving_ for months! First thing I'm going to do is look up a chocolate eclair recipe! But I can only make it if Her Ladyship doesn't need her hair done. I've missed her."

" _Really_?" Luc teased.

"Yes. I _have_ ," she shot back before leaving for the master suites of the mansion, to see if Marie-Juliette and Evangeline wanted a cup of tea or 'freshening up.'

Luc turned to Emilie, who seemed a bit downcast. He stepped closer to her, a questioning look forming. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know how I can handle both sewing and cooking! Now that they're here, I think my workload may double. And I can never bring it up to M. Valois. He doesn't care," she said in a frustrated whisper.

"Are you certain? But I thought I saw at least ten new people arrive. Aren't some of them cooks?"

"I hope," Emilie replied. Before Luc could say any more to her, Madame Chambon called out from the front door. "Emilie!"

"I have a task assigned," she said, turning to leave.

"I'll walk inside with you. As a stonemason and construction worker, I fear that...my job may be ending now that the rebuilding has been completed. I'm not quite sure what Jean and I will be assigned to...or where."

"What do you mean...you'll be leaving here?" she asked guardedly.

"About a fifty percent chance. At least I think that's what M. Valois had said."

She swallowed, and looked down at the ground. "Oh."

"What do you mean, 'oh'?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing." She shrugged. "Just that I hope and pray you find as useful work in the future, as you have over this winter."

"So not 'oh' as in 'I am ecstatic that the old, insufferable _beast_ is out of my hair?'"

"Of _course_ not!" Emilie replied with a tiny smile.

He smirked. "Good." They parted ways, as Emilie had been called to do some meal preparations.

…

"Charles, can I have your honest opinion? Do you like the silver wig, or the usual white?"

"I think the silver is flattering, Your Honor. It's new and different, which is always good," the barber Charles replied as he trimmed off all of the Marquis Antoine's remaining hair and sweeping the older man's bald pate clean with a fluffy brush. He chose the silver curled wig and affixed it upon the Marquis' head.

"So what are your upcoming social engagements, Your Honor?" Charles asked as he removed the barber's cloth from his master's shoulders.

"None away from here. For at least two months, thank God," the Marquis said gruffly at himself in the mirror. "I have exhausted myself from all the balls and cotillions, and now that Evangeline has been betrothed, I can finally rest."

"I'm truly happy for you," said Charles in a flat tone, meant to appease.

"The only social engagement I have this week is the arrival of my future son-in-law, Louis Jean-Baptiste. He will be here this Saturday."

" _The_ Louis Jean-Baptiste? The Prince of Normandy?" Charles asked, his voice rising in interest. "I hoped it would be _he_ who would choose Evangeline! That is fantastic news. And he's going to be _here_ soon?"

" _Oui._ It is the best match I could have imagined. He is the second wealthiest Prince in France."

Charles nodded. "Who's the first wealthiest, Your Honor?"

"Prince Adam of Alsace-Lorraine. We don't talk much about him. He's a young second-cousin of Louis, but he's-" The Marquis gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"There's one in every family, Your Honor," said Charles dryly, nodding as he fixed stray strands of the Marquis' wig.

"I received an invitation yesterday to Prince Adam's birthday celebration ball, on June twenty-seventh. Three months away. It will be a perilously long journey."

"Yes, it will be. Alsace-Lorraine is very far away. I hope you and the family will be well enough rested to travel by then," said Charles.

"I'm very impressed with the new fireplaces and chimney," the Marquis Antoine commented as he gazed at the reflection of the master-suite fireplace in the parlor behind him. "Who were the stonemasons who rebuilt them?"

"It was headed by Monsieur Avenant, and Monsieur Paquet. They are still here if you want to let them know you like their handiwork."

"I will."

…

Luc and Jean, dressed in their best clothes, were called up to the Marquis' dining room after dinner that evening.

"We're very pleased with the stonework on my new fireplaces and chimney, gentlemen," Marquis Antoine said from his table as he nursed a cup of tea with his wife, the Marquess and Lady Evangeline.

Luc was a bit self-conscious, an unpleasant feeling. He had met Evangeline once before and had acted too forward with her. He now worried that she might remember him. But that was many months ago, and he'd been ravaged by smallpox since and didn't look quite the same. He saw no hint of recognition in her eyes as he nodded politely in her direction.

"Thank you, Your Honor," he said after an awkward moment.

"Have either of you gone foxhunting before?" Marquis Antoine asked them.

Luc's heart jumped, and he held back an excited smile. During his illness, he'd had such pleasant and recurring _dreams_ of being a sportsman, riding a horse, hunting for game, dreams that seemed so real-

Jean was answering. "I have never hunted before, Your Honor."

"And you?" the Marquis asked Luc, eyeing him curiously. "I saw that twinkle in your eye, Monsieur. You're amused by something."

"I've never hunted before either, but it sounds...interesting," said Luc. His eye wandered over to Lady Evangeline, who gave him a somewhat amused smirk. She seemed to like him. Perhaps it was because he was dressed in good clothes today.

"Then I want you to speak to Charles Perruque. My barber, the man who's been tending the horses until I arrived. He's at the stables at the moment. I gave him a collection of bows, arrows, and muskets which he locked away, because he is the _only_ man I entrust with weapons. He couldn't harm a fly. Speaking of such, Monsieur-"

"Avenant," said Luc politely, still standing straight next to Jean, both mens' hands behind their backs in a stance of respect for the noble family.

"I've heard your name mentioned today amongst the staff, in regards to an incident earlier this winter," said Marquis Antoine.

" _Incident_?" Luc's heart rate rose a bit. Could he be considered in the wrong, for the brutal way in which he fought against Roland and Lavassieur?

"You had caught two hired construction workers red-handed, in the act of attempted-" Marquis Antoine caught the eyes of his wife and daughter. "Darlings? Can I speak in private with these gentlemen? It is not for your ears."

"What is it, Papa? Why can't we know?" Evangeline asked shrilly. Her mother gave her a stern look, and made Evangeline follow her out the door. Evangeline peeked back at her father.

"Please close the door, would you, Monsieur?" Marquis Antoine asked Jean, who was standing nearest the door. Jean obeyed, and closed it softly.

"As I was saying, you caught two workers in the act of attempted... _rape_ and possibly _murder_ ," Marquis Antoine said in a lowered tone. "And I thank you for the fact you were there to _prevent_ that from happening to those maids. What I want to know, is _why_ I wasn't informed of the incident by my head of household?!" His voice raised on the last words.

"I don't know," said Luc. "I believe it's up to Monsieur Valois to keep you informed of things among the staff. To be fair, I would have _wanted_ you to know."

"Pierre Valois hired two men who were known to be _criminals_? To work among young ladies? Am I correct? Because that is what I've heard in hearsay, from the mouth of one of the victims _herself,_ while I was walking near the servants' dining area _one hour ago_!"

"Well, yes. But I'm sure he didn't know-" Luc began.

"He _did_ know!" Jean interrupted, finally speaking up.

Anger flushed Jean Paquet's young face as he remembered how he had been brutally beaten. "He even said it out loud when he confronted them. He said, 'I should have known not to trust you, and it's back to prison with you both!' Luc! That meant Monsieur Valois _knew_ that those two had been in prison for something before they came!"

Luc shot a brief, appalled look at Jean. How can he speak against his employer? Luc had been taught to tow the line, obey his superiors. Jean was in danger of being fired now.

"I don't wish to disrespect Monsieur Valois, Your Honor," Luc quickly said to the Marquis. It was their _boss_ Jean was talking about. Even if Jean and his wife didn't mind being relocated elsewhere, Luc didn't. He wanted to stay in M. Valois' good graces.

"Gentlemen, you can go now," Marquis Antoine ordered them, his aged face furrowed in distress.

"Are you an _idiot?_ " Luc hissed at Jean when they were out of the room.

"What? I was telling the truth. I have an excellent memory, and besides, our loyalties should be with the Marquis. Not Valois."

"Well, so are mine. For _both_. Who said they were against each other? There's no good reason for Valois to be sacked, and for it to be our fault!" he growled in a low tone.

Jean shot him an 'uh-oh' look, the one he always gave when Luc's temper began to flare.

As Luc and Jean headed out the door of the master suites, downstairs to the servants' dining area and kitchens, Lady Evangeline suddenly appeared from behind a potted plant, descending upon them in a cloud of pink ruffles.

"What was my father talking about?" she demanded.

"It isn't for your delicate ears, he said," Luc replied.

"But I _want_ to know! You _have_ to tell me!" She followed them down the staircase. Luc turned around and gave her a scowl.

" _No!_ " he said in his most commanding tone. Evangeline's pretty lip quivered; she balled up her fists. That moment, Marquess Juliette appeared.

She'd just heard Luc yell at her daughter.

"I beg your pardon," Luc said to both of them soberly. _Mon Dieu, you're getting out of line again, Avenant!_ _They are all your superiors!_

"It's all right," Marquess Juliette replied calmly. She walked right past her daughter, Luc, and Jean, and into the servants' dining hall. Luc and Jean were there just in time to see all spoons drop, all teacups laid down, and every person stand up upon sight of her. Echoes of "Your Ladyship" were uttered around the tables.

"I'd like to see Monsieur Pierre Valois, please," she announced.

The tall, mustached man stood and bowed in a combination of both subservience and self-importance. "Yes, Your Ladyship." He followed her back up to the master suites.

Luc sought out Emilie amongst the small group; she wasn't sitting at a table or having tea. Only the three older maids were there, teacups in their hands and bread crumbs on plates near them, still in a celebratory mood.

"Ladies, have you seen the Fortier girls?"

"Kitchen. Helping the dishwasher, the poor incompetent sap!" a maid said, pointing to the kitchen.

Luc bounded on quick steps into the galley kitchen. He wanted to give headstrong Mademoiselle Adelaide a piece of his mind for speaking ill of Monsieur Valois. _She_ must have been the one bringing up the incident, and the Marquis had heard her. It didn't look good for the boss they'd known and followed all these months. Not at all.

"Adelaide!" he commanded when he saw her, back turned to him, her pretty hair in a curled ponytail. Emilie had her hands on Adelaide's shoulders.

"Monsieur Luc- what is wrong?" Emilie said, giving him a shaming eye. Adelaide turned around. Her eyes were bloodshot, and tears were streaming from her cheeks.

"Wha-what's wrong? Adelaide?"

Adelaide tried to smile. She wiped her face with her apron. "You...you're just..catching me at a bad time." She attempted a weak laugh.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Are you...alright?"

"No," she said. "I'm _not_ still 'alright,' Luc. I still have _nightmares_ about it all. We've been stressed, we're overworked, and-" She heaved a ragged sigh as a tear trickled down her face. Emilie hugged her.

"I know, it's still hard...I'm afraid to take walks out in the forest, too," she said consolingly.

The notion dawned on him that perhaps, just maybe, Adelaide and Emilie weren't quite over their ordeal. Perhaps, they might still want to talk about it. Talk about the assault, about Luc saving them, about the fact M. Valois hired men with criminal pasts. The two sisters _seemed_ happy these days, Luc had assumed.

But that was the thing. He had _assumed._

"But you're both so brave," Luc whispered. He moved toward them and found himself enveloping both of them in his arms. A chaste, familial hug. He listened to them sob louder as they embraced.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean…" he mumbled awkwardly as he started to pull away from them, but they both clung to him tighter. "Huh?"

"Luc, you boorish ox, can you get it through your thick head that we _need_ you here? Doing _this_?" Emilie whispered fiercely.

"Oh. All right."

After hugging each other for a moment, they pulled away. The galley kitchen door opened, and a balding but youngish man in fine clothes, cravat and velvet waistcoat appeared. "Adelaide?"

"Charles!" she exclaimed, rushing to the arms of the Marquis' personal barber. She clung to his slim waist like a drowning woman to a life preserver. Charles, in turn, gave Luc and Emilie a bewildered and confused look, his hands loose and splayed, not touching her hair or body.

 _Can you just kiss, or at least hug, your girl already?_ Luc thought, eyeing down the Marquis' hairdresser.

"Um, Adelaide, dear...why don't you and I go outside for a walk if the dishes are done," Charles said softly. He eyed Luc and Emilie in veiled annoyance. "Are the dishes _done_? Adelaide, you _don't_ need to be doing dishes anymore. You both need to leave that to...For heaven's sake! _Where_ is that Aloysius fellow?"

"He went to the storeroom for a few minutes, to find more soap," said Emilie.

Charles rolled his eyes. "I'm glad His Honor is finally here. It's been nothing but chaos. No authority whatsoever." He gave Luc a second glance. "Except for you. But you _can't_ be the boss, unfortunately. Come Adelaide, I want to take a walk with you."

"I will see you both later," Adelaide said as she glanced back at them, her eyes drying. "I still want to go outdoors. Charles is going to show me the baby foals out in the stables. I'm still nervous about going out too far-"

"Let's _go_ , dear," Charles insisted. The two left, arms hooked as if they were escorting each other to a ball.

"Good God! What does she see in _him_?" Luc muttered under his breath. "How long have they been seeing each other?"

"A few weeks," said Emilie. "She's Lady Evangeline's hairdresser, and Charles is His Honor's. A match made in heaven and hair accessories."

Luc shook his head.

"Are you jealous?" Emilie said quietly. "Most of the bachelor men have been eyeing Adelaide, so I wouldn't be surprised if _you_ -"

"No, of course not," Luc said, shaking his head as he looked out the kitchen door. "Adelaide? She's like a _sister_ to me. Besides, I don't think I'm her type. I mean...if _he's_ her type, than _I'm_ certainly not."

Emilie gazed up at Luc in shy admiration. "She needs a big brother then. Actually, I can think of no one better than _you_ to be here for both of us. She said she has nightmares. And you...you spoke of having bad dreams. You should talk about it more, like you did to me that one time. Because you...understand."

"I _think_ I do," said Luc, bumbling and unsure. Truthfully- he did not. "At least, I _want_ to understand. I mean, you're women. And to be honest, it's hard for me to understand, but I truly-"

His words were interrupted by an angry shout from outside the kitchen. It was the voice of the head of household, Pierre Valois. He was in the process of berating the entire staff.

 _"I'm happy to say I don't get to see your faces ever again! You motley crew of inconsiderate, stupid fools! So you think you can betray me? Well damn the whole lot of you!"_

Luc and Emilie had peeked out the kitchen door just in time to see that Monsieur Valois' entire face was red as a raw beefsteak. In fact, he resembled one; white streaks of mustache and facial hair over his ruddy, sweaty visage. His wig and cravat were askew, and he glared at everyone with a disdain that shocked Luc. He never thought his boss was _that_ bad of a head of household, after all. He tended to keep his distance, seemed a pleasant enough gentleman. He'd only acted when someone was truly out of line.

Like the Roland and Lavassieur incident.

M. Valois' eyes met Luc's, and he gave him an extra serving of venom before he turned and left.

"I saw that coming," Luc said nonchalantly.

"Hmm?" Emilie said, surprised.

"The Marquis just had a word with me in his suites upstairs. With Jean and I. He wasn't happy about the attack on you and Adelaide. And that Roland and Lavassieur were allowed to be here. Valois knew they could be dangerous, but I guess they'd been all buddy-buddy before, and he let it slide until… it happened. He was incompetent as a head of household in the Marquis' absence."

Her eyes widened. "So he's been sacked?"

"I suppose."

Emilie smiled, and her flushed face looked pretty in the dimness of the galley. Luc put his arm reassuringly around her shoulder. She leaned into him, laying her head against his chest and sighed.

"I'm relieved. He _never_ treated us like people. Never got to know us. We were just...objects to be ordered. He sneered at me once, back in Paris, last summer. As if he were disgusted that I had smallpox...I'm glad he's gone."

Luc tightened his arm around her. Her hair smelled like 'borrowed' perfume. Evangeline's, most likely. "I'm glad, too. Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Tell your sister she needs to stop using the Mistresses' cosmetics. And you, too. The fragrance I'm smelling on your hair and clothes is something I haven't smelled until today. I have a keen sense of smell. I _don't_ want you in trouble."

"You can? Oh, no. I better change soon! I didn't even _use_ any, but she did."

The back rear door of the galley opened this time. Aloysius the dishwasher burst in, his arms full of new boxes of soap. He dropped the boxes on the floor and regarded Luc and Emilie, his arm still holding her close, with wide-eyed surprise.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

Emilie let out a small giggle. "No. Not at all."

...


	15. Guardian Angels

Chapter 15- Guardian Angels

…

A week later, Luc was still on the estate, performing odd jobs. The previous day, Prince Louis Jean-Baptiste of Normandy- the 'second wealthiest Prince in France,' had arrived and had settled in the guest room. The Marquis and Marquess spent time getting to know him, planning his wedding to Lady Evangeline. He was a fine looking young fellow; fair of hair, tall of stature, and very refined and charismatic. Evangeline seemed to be quite happy with him. Luc, as well as the rest of the staff, were just as happy for her.

With all of the excitement, lunch and cleaning over, the aristocrats enjoying parlour games indoors, Luc and Emilie found time to take a walk around the mansion's grounds. When they happened to meander into the forest path, Luc watched Emilie's expression carefully to see any signs of worry or trauma. They were heading to the same area where she and her sister had been attacked.

"Are you sure you don't mind walking this way?" he asked.

"Not at all. I feel safe with you here. Adelaide has been going out here with Charles, so she is conquering her fear. It's about time that I face my own."

"Very well, then. As long as you're comfortable."

Emilie gave him a concerned look. "Speaking of facing your fears, do you still have those nightmares?"

"Nightmares?" he replied quizzically. "No! I haven't had either dreams or nightmares at all lately. They seem to be fading."

"So some were pleasant?"

"Some were incredible...they felt as if I was living the life I _should_ be living, instead of the one I have. Some were...not so pleasant. A touch of harsh reality."

"Harsh reality? Is the life you have now so terrible?" she asked, keeping a lighthearted smile on her face.

"No! No, it isn't." Luc gave an awkward chuckle. "My circumstances have improved, especially since the Marquis has arrived, and my health has continued to improve. It isn't terrible at all."

"And you haven't been reassigned?"

"No. In fact, the Marquis keeps choosing me for tasks and assistance. I never thought I'd say this, but Marquis Antoine is a good man- kind, respectable, and fair. I never expected a rich man, much less an aristocrat, to be that way. I've never worked for anyone better."

"Neither have I," said Emilie. "Evangeline has been kinder to me as well. Not as cold or ignoring."

"She shouldn't be ignoring anyone," said Luc. "But she's still too much in love with her reflection in the mirror, more so than she's in love with her new fiance. She reminds me of...the kind of man I _used_ to be."

"I felt that when I met you for the first time," Emilie said quietly, as to not offend. "But you're not vain anymore, and that's what's important."

Luc shrugged, not sure what to say. He still had the desperate need to prove his ego in what he did, and how efficiently he could do it. Part of the reason for his newfound happiness was the fact that the Marquis held him in high regard.

He and Emilie walked silently beneath the trees, smelling the growth of spring in full bloom. Bluebells carpeted the grass on either side of the path. Luc stepped down for a moment and picked a handful. "Here," he said awkwardly, handing them to Emilie.

She beamed in joy. "Thank you! I mean...you are the first gentleman who's ever given me any flowers. Ever."

"I am? Well, good!" he said, not knowing what else to say. After they ventured the farthest they wished to go and began heading back, Luc remembered something that the Marquis said he wanted him to do.

"That's right! I forgot. I need to go find Charles the barber and ask him about weapons-"

"Weapons?" Emilie said, alarmed.

"Hunting supplies, I mean! Bows, arrows, rifles. The Marquis and the Prince want to go on a foxhunt soon. And one of the extra things he wants me to do is to go fox hunting with him. Except, I have never hunted in my entire life! I had a few thrilling _dreams_ about being a hunter-"

Emilie was laughing. "What's so funny?" Luc said.

"You. Your face lit up with such joy when you mentioned your dreams about being a hunter. I've never seen such an ecstatic expression on your face before. What happened to my old beastly grump?"

"Is it wrong?" His smile dissipated.

"No! It isn't wrong. It's just charming, that's all. I think you should try to go hunting with His Honor and His Highness. You might do just fine. Just find the arrows and bow and practice a little before you go with them."

"But I don't know where to find those weap- I mean, those hunting supplies, because Charles has them locked up somewhere. So I need to ask him to get them for me. But I'd rather not go to him, because he's a ridiculously-"

"I know. He annoys me, too. I don't know why Adelaide's seeing him. It's strange. He buys her things, like cosmetics, bonnets, and jewelry, and writes her sappy poetry, and gives her big bouquets of bluebells," Emilie breathed in the scent of her handful of bluebells- "but I don't know if he really likes her. It's as if he read a book on 'how to court a girl in five days' and started doing those things, but with no real _emotion._ Adelaide seems to like him. Probably because of the attention he gives her."

"People like attention. Having someone dote on them," said Luc.

"I suppose they do. Even I wish for it...but it rarely happens." Emilie lowered her gaze to the ground, her face warming.

Luc didn't notice her blushing face, because he was staring ahead, deep in thought. When Emilie glanced back at him, she recognized his look as the pained brooding that he'd been so mired with back in his old apartment. Her heart sank. She had so wanted her friend to remain in his happy state. Perhaps that was selfish of her.

"Is something troubling you?" she asked.

"Do you want to hear another strange dream I had while I was ill with smallpox?" Luc said very quietly and slowly. "Can you not judge me as insane?"

"I won't judge you as insane, Monsieur Luc. You can share any strange dream you had, if it is still bothering you." She lightly brushed his coat sleeve with the hand that wasn't holding the simple bouquet of bluebells.

"All right," he replied, shoulders lowering in relief over the freedom to confide more of his inner demons. "You know the way Charles is with His Honor? Flattering him when he fixes his hair and wigs? Telling him what looks good on him? And how the Marquis confides in Charles and relies on him so much, even more than he relies on me?"

"Yes, but I'm sure His Honor values you just as well, it's just that Charles has been with him for so much longer-"

"You say that Charles has been with him much longer," Luc interrupted. "It makes me think of-"

"Is your dream about Charles?" Emilie interrupted back. "Did you dream that you _killed_ him or something, because you were jealous that His Honor holds him in a higher circle than you-"

"What? _No!_ Do you honestly think I want to be his personal wig curler? Do I _look_ like someone who wants to sprinkle powder on wigs all day?" Luc growled.

"No! Of course you don't," Emilie argued.

Seeing Emilie's hurt expression, Luc softened. "You didn't let me finish what I was going to say," he said in a near-whisper.

"You interrupted me, as well," replied Emilie.

"I'm sorry. Just got...caught up in a thought. Do you want me to tell you what I dreamed about, or would you rather just assume I secretly wish to kill people?"

Emilie could see pain and remorse in Luc's eyes. Much more than she thought he ought to feel for such a silly, minor reason as interrupting each other. "Yes. I do," she said in sincerity. "You can tell me, and I didn't mean to assume that. It's just that you look like you have a lot of guilt about something."

"It's the dreams. The dreams were sometimes...convicting. They made me guilty about things I only did in the _dream,_ not in reality."

"Like fighting the horned monster," Emilie replied.

"Yes. You actually _remember_ me telling you that?"

"I do. I guess I wanted to help. And...it was interesting," she admitted, smiling a little.

"All right...well-" He took a deep breath. "Right before the one about the horned monster, there were several others, about a boy. Or a man. I don't know, he was a boy in some of the dreams and a grown man in others. And a youth in his teens, but only in the dream I had about fighting in a war. But no matter what age he appeared as, it was always the same man. And I knew that he was my own version of what Charles is to His Honor. A doting friend and confidante."

"That's nice," Emilie said in a tentative tone. "So...was he a man you know in life?"

"No. He didn't look like anyone I know in my life," Luc said with a sigh. "Stout fellow. Dark hair, rosy cheeked, fond of bright-colored bows. He flattered me, always told me I was brave and talented. I always felt honored when he was there. In the _dreams_ , of course. He sang to me, drank toasts to me...and during the war dream, I remember him fighting by my side. I truly wanted to keep him safe, because he wasn't as fast or as fierce as me, even though he was just as brave."

"Sounds like a good friend. Almost like Jean."

"But he wasn't Jean. Jean is too quarrelsome. No, this man...he doted on me. But I was cruel to him. Pushed him aside and left him injured...right before I fought with the horned monster. The monster was the _thrilling_ part of the dream, but now I remember this man being with me, right before the...monster battle, if you will."

"So you felt guilty about leaving your friend injured?"

"Yes. I threw him in front of a...damn, what _was_ it? Some living, haunted coat rack, I think...with hooks that could punch like fists, and then...a musical instrument of some kind. It fell on top of my friend, and...this is stupid...it played a funeral dirge as it crushed him."

Luc studied Emilie's face at that point and noticed she was fighting back a smile, perhaps a scoff of bewilderment. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No. I don't. It's a _dream,_ Monsieur Luc. Dreams are supposed to be bizarre. So you allowed an instrument to crush your friend and play a funeral song, and it...made you guilty?"

Emilie _did_ think it was strange. Yet, even if Monsieur Luc _was_ indeed a bit crazy...she honestly wouldn't want it any other way. Fiery intensity and Luc went together. He just wouldn't be _Monsieur Luc_ without it.

"Yes. And then there was the girl. A _beautiful_ girl."

Emilie listened, frowning, as the old hurt came back. She heard all men talk of 'beautiful girls,' and Emilie knew she wasn't. "What did she do?" she pressed.

"She was furious at me, because she was defending the monster. She didn't want me to kill it. I remember her face so clearly. Her gorgeous brown eyes, her long brown hair, a bit of freckles on her face...and she hated me. She called _me_ a monster. And she called me someone else's name! At least she didn't call me by _my_ name. Because I couldn't have been _me_. I _had_ to be someone else!"

Luc clenched his fists tightly, as if to hold on to the steadfast hope that he _wasn't_ this cruel person that the beautiful girl was appalled by.

"I wish I knew who that girl was, if she were real," he continued in a hushed tone. "And I wish I knew who the man was, if _he_ were real. Who _are_ they? Never met either of them, and their faces were so vivid in my mind's eye."

Emilie thought Luc looked so tormented, so confused. She had to say something to comfort him, even if it was merely grasping at her _own_ experiences; the sentimental, maudlin things her own mother had comforted her with.

"Perhaps they're your guardian angels," said Emilie, after she'd thought for a moment. "They are just there in your dreams to guide you. Teach you lessons. Maybe that's why they seem real. I never knew my Grand-Mere, but when I was a little girl I dreamt of a woman. Her smile, dark hair, comforting presence. I told Maman about it, and she was certain that it was my Grand-Mere, speaking to me from heaven."

"They must have been real people. Whether they're now dead _or_ alive somewhere." Luc gazed ahead with that brooding stare once again.

"Luc, you seem down. Maybe we should switch the subject to something else?"

He shrugged and nodded. "Perhaps."

They continued to walk, a lull in the conversation. Birds and spring thrushes chattered in the treetops. It was musical; cheerful. Dappled sun hit the new grass and bushes beneath the still-budding trees, warming the day.

Slowly and tentatively, Luc held his elbow out so that Emilie could take it. "Are you feeling...all right about being here on this forest trail again?" he asked in concern.

Emilie wrapped her small arm around Luc's strong elbow and smiled. "I feel just fine, Monsieur Luc. _Merci_ for the nice walk. And for the bluebells."

He gave her a warm smile. "You're welcome, Mademoiselle Emilie."

"Mademoiselle Emilie..." She gave a self-conscious chuckle. "That's a mouthful. Perhaps we should drop the formalities?"

"Hmm...perhaps." He laughed a little, and so did she. Luc glanced down at her again. Emilie was looking quite pretty today; her long hair was tied back in a blue ribbon that very much matched the bluebells clutched in her hand. Her skin was appearing rosier and healthier all the time. Her scars now looked more like, well, freckles.

He walked her back to the door of the estate, feeling like a gentleman before they parted to do their chores.

…

Later that day, Luc headed to the stables where he found Charles busily brushing down the Marquis' horses with currycombs.

"Good evening!" Luc greeted. "I have to ask a favor of you. May I borrow the bow and arrows that you keep? I've been asked to accompany the Marquis and Prince on a hunt soon."

Charles gave him a nod. "I suppose you may. But just be sure not to damage them." He went to climb a ladder to the upper level of the stable, where it served as a hayloft and storage area for feed. Luc heard him jingling a few keys, and soon he climbed back down bearing a fine archery set encased in leather.

"Be careful!" Charles said tensely. "This is a family heirloom. It's belonged to the Marquis for nearly his entire life!"

"I will." Luc took up the case of prized weaponry on his arm. He then reached over and patted the small man's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't fret. It's terribly unflattering," he said with a teasing smirk.

Charles' lip quivered; he seemed overly embarrassed. "I'm n-not fretting." he stammered.

"How's Adelaide today? Are you intending to court her? I'm pretty impressed at the jewelry and flowers you've been giving that girl. Sounds like you have serious intentions with her."

Charles averted his gaze toward the two mares eating hay in their stanchions. "I do," he said curtly, and turned away from Luc in a bit of a huff, ignoring him in favor of one of the horses.

" _Bonne chance!_ " Luc said with a cheery wave as he left. _"Pompous twit,"_ he muttered under his breath as he hiked into the forest, and carefully unpacked the archery set. The bow was made of a polished wood, with a strong, firm string. He gripped it in his hands, and was surprised at how natural it felt to hold such a grand weapon.

He took a sharp, sturdy arrow from the quiver, its end painted red. He glanced around to find a target; just a tree would do. Putting the arrow in the bow's groove, he spotted a dead tree with a thick trunk, far off in the distance. He wanted a challenge.

Keeping his eye focused on a barely discernable knothole in the tree trunk, he pulled the arrow back, and let it fly. He closed his eyes shut, blinking, giving them a break. There was a _whoosh_ and a _thunk_ as the arrow took off and hit something. Luc was concerned for a moment that someone could have been in the vicinity and was accidentally hit. He should have been more careful.

Opening his eyes, he saw a faint bit of red on the old tree trunk. He rushed through the forest for many yards, finally approaching it. _Non!_ He couldn't have been that lucky on his first try. But there was the arrow, sticking straight out of the darkened knothole on the right hand side of the tree trunk, the exact spot he had trained his eye on.

"Well, I'll be damned," Luc whispered under his breath. "I _can't_ be that good, can I?"

He heard a fluttering high above him. A bird- a pheasant or grouse of some sort, caught Luc's attention. Rapidly, without thought or discernment- Luc drew out an arrow, set it, and shouldered the bow to aim at the moving bird within seconds. He was drawing the string tightly back, following the trajectory of the feathered creature, when he heard a distinct voice inside his mind-

" _You are not to kill."_

It was that woman again. The woman who'd appeared in his dreamy vision when the mere act of killing a rodent in his apartment caused him to be stricken with excruciating pain. The same blonde woman, dressed as a barmaid, who'd healed him when his mouth was burning from the contact of alcohol. She- just like the doting, rosy-cheeked man, and the disapproving brunette beauty who lived in his recurring dreams- was a guardian angel.

Luc aimed away from the living bird, and let the arrow soar upward past the treetops, watching its arc as it reached a point in the bright azure sky and descended downward. A feeling of joy and peace overwhelmed him.

...

The next day, the Marquis and the Prince, accompanied by Luc as their hunting aide, and Prince Louis Jean-Baptiste's five foxhounds, headed into the forest for a day of leisure and challenge. Luc was quiet, riding his horse slightly behind the two aristocrats as they spoke of politics, the King, and royal relatives whom Luc had no interest in. He really had nothing to add to the conversation, so he kept his attention on the dogs. The foxhounds were sniffing and running ahead of the men, a charming sight.

Luc thought of how Adelaide and Emilie had gushed so over the dogs when they saw them, calling them 'cute.' He daydreamed for a moment about giving Emilie a puppy of her own.

Meanwhile, the two royals- shouldering their fine bows and quivers while Luc packed a burlap game bag- talked on about French high society.

"Over the winter, I visited Adam in Alsace-Lorraine," Prince Louis was telling the Marquis Antoine. "And I met his new bride. Lovely, intelligent girl. Adam chose well, in my opinion. She may not be a royal, but she's going to be a fine wife for him. She's certainly in possession of a mind of her own!" Louis shook his head in exasperation. "She established a girls' school in their local village, and spoke of all kinds of charity projects she wishes to begin. Definitely a born leader, in spite of her gender. I think everyone has been mistaken in judging Adam."

"I believe you, Your Highness," replied Marquis Antoine. "I see no wrong with choosing a wife for her character rather than her family status. What is her father's occupation?"

"The new Princess' father? I believe the man said he was an artist. So definitely a cultured family of origin," the younger Prince said approvingly.

The elder man nodded. "Ah, good. And what was the new Princess' name again?"

"Her name is Princess Belle. And the name certainly fits her!" said Prince Louis. "She's beautiful, but it's in a very understated way. She never wears wigs or panniers. When I met her, she wore a simple, blue day dress. She was stunning."

"You sound as if you're in thrall of her _yourself_ , Your Highness," chided Marquis Antoine. "I would hope that you are just as admiring of my _daughter's_ beauty."

"Oh yes!" Louis said, his voice raising an octave. He cleared his throat and affixed his hat upon his golden hair. "Evangeline is everything I could ask for in a bride. I will be honored to be her husband, and I intend to make her as happy as she can possibly be, Your Honor. Perhaps even Adam and Belle will envy us for our bliss. And those two are _quite_ the blessed couple! I expect an heir will be born to them very soon!"

Luc watched one of the dogs break away from the pack. The small, plump hound, her body patched in white, brown and black, had her nose tight to the grass as she bounded into the side brushes in enthusiasm. Some of the other dogs caught her lead and followed.

"Excuse me, Your Honor?" Luc asked politely. "May I follow this lead?"

"Yes, do!" said Louis in excitement. "That was my little Anne. She's a spot-on tracker!" The Prince swished his riding whip and turned his mare to the right. " _Ya!Ya!"_

Luc had already turned his horse and was in front of the two, riding through the brush, leaping over logs. He kept his eye on the lead dog and watched her chase down a fox, who scurried back into their direction.

Prince Louis aimed his bow. _Swoosh!_ He shot the animal clean.

"Good one, Your Highness!" said Marquis Antoine.

" _Merci_!" said Prince Louis. "Luc! Bag it up for me, won't you, my good man?"

For a brief moment, Luc felt a sting of envy. He wanted to be the one to hunt the wild game. He wanted to be the important man in this pleasant excursion, rather than the mere bag carrier and sidekick. But he nodded, smiled, and took a burlap bag, walking up to the dead fox and pulling the arrow from its body.

It was a small animal, chestnut brown, its eyes closed in peace, gone. He was glad it didn't suffer. He put the kill into the sack and tied it up. Plenty of room for more, and Louis and Antoine certainly wanted more. He heard the two high-born men laughing in triumph.

Anne, the little hound, whined at Luc with pleading, pretty brown eyes. Her floppy ears lifted in anticipation.

"Good work, little lady." He took a scrap of salt pork from his pocket and fed it to her. The other dogs came to him, tails wagging, and he busied himself with feeding his little crowd of canine friends, thinking of how much Emilie would love this sight.

Hundreds of miles away, Agathe was also loving the sight. She smiled into the Magic Mirror as the coat button glowed warm and red in her palm. How could this man have _ever_ been Gaston Legume? How he had changed from the cold, brutal shell of a man he once was!

...


	16. New, and a Bit Alarming

Chapter 16- New, and a Bit Alarming

…

Luc spent a third morning assisting the Marquis and the Prince on a foxhunt. He felt increasingly restless, trying to suppress his wish to handle a weapon. The beauty of nature, the spring air, and the dogs were the only things that he found pleasant about the excursions.

The Marquis and the Prince rarely let Luc into the conversations; they only spoke of things which disinterested him. The names of nobles to invite to Louis and Evangeline's wedding, what the King and Queen had done and said during the last royal ball, that Adam fellow, the birthday ball which would be held at his great chateau- all unimportant to Luc Avenant's ears.

He hoped to ask Marquis Antoine if he would allow him to hunt with him once Prince Louis left, actually using a weapon instead of tracking and collecting game. Louis was only going to stay for a week until he returned to Normandy. And since the Marquis was getting on in age and had lung problems, Luc knew it wasn't safe for him to ride in the forest alone.

After the two noblemen had bagged four foxes and one pheasant flying over the trees, Prince Louis followed the dogs on yet another scent, picking up his horse's pace.

"Antoine, hold back. I want this one!" Louis said haughtily as he left Marquis Antoine and Luc alone on their horses. Marquis Antoine gave Luc an exasperated smile.

"He's wearing me out. The Marquess and Evangeline are taking tea right now, and I'd much rather be heading back."

"Do you still enjoy hunting, Your Honor?" Luc asked.

"The boy in me still does, the old man in me does not."

"I would be honored to accompany you on future hunts. Much shorter ones, of course."

"That would be considerate of you, Luc," said the Marquis. "Would you ever mind taking on the bow yourself? I have the most dreadful shoulder pain from when I took down the one fox." He rubbed the gold epaulette-covered shoulder of his maroon riding coat. "I would be merely content to ride along and watch from now on."

"I would not mind at all," said Luc, curbing his enthusiasm as he stood up straight and tall on his borrowed horse.

"And also...I have been meaning to ask you something. Since I sent away Monsieur Valois, I have been without a head of household. You seem to do well watching over the other servants. Would you accept the position if I gave it to you?"

" _Me_?"

"Oui, Monsieur. And don't play that humble act on me, I know you have some healthy confidence in your ability."

"Your Honor, I would be accepting of the position. Whatever it may entail," said Luc. "I'm just surprised, because I thought you'd be looking for someone more well-read."

"But you are well spoken enough. You can certainly lead the others in their tasks. I also need you to accompany me to Alsace in June, to visit the Prince of that region. I will leave it to you to choose a few other servants to join us on the trip."

Luc nodded his head. "It will be a pleasure, Your Honor."

Prince Louis came riding back on his horse, dogs accompanying him on all sides. "I have a fox for your man to collect. Shall we wrap it up, Antoine?" he called.

"I suppose we should, Your Highness," the Marquis said dryly while Luc dismounted his horse, carrying the burlap bag.

…

That evening, Luc made his humble announcement to the staff he was now the Head of Household. Most of the servants approved of the choice, since he was a more pleasant person to lead them than Monsieur Valois ever was. He needed to supervise everyone's work, and that also meant urging Aloysius to wash the dishes a little faster, and Adelaide to do more cooking than chatting. Adelaide complied, breaking off her conversation with Mme. Benoit about her necklace from Charles she was wearing.

Luc found Emilie working in the kitchen. "Try not to overuse too much butter," he told her as kindly as he could. He moved to stand behind her as she cooked at the stove, sautéeing a pan of onions.

"You're making me nervous. But I'll try to use less butter, Monsieur Luc," Emilie said. "I know if it runs out, we have to wait until another delivery."

"And the same goes with salt and sugar," Luc said to her, his voice raised enough to address every cook in the kitchen. "I'll be checking each sugar bag to make sure only one is used every three days," he added with a friendly grin. The cooks nodded and smiled a little; for some reason the admonishment was more pleasant in his voice than Monsieur Valois.'

"Guess what?" Luc said in a lowered tone near Emilie's ear.

"What?" Emilie asked, unnerved.

"His Honor has appointed me to accompany him on a trip to Alsace in June. In my absence, who do you think would be the best servant to supervise the rest?"

"Hmm...who do _you_ think it should be, Luc?" Emilie replied. "That isn't until June. You don't have to decide right away, silly."

"Madame Chambon, perhaps?" Luc suggested.

Emilie smiled. "I agree. Madame Chambon is a very experienced maid and is like a second mother to us all. Do you think it would all right to appoint a woman? Head servants are nearly always men, aren't they?"

Luc furrowed his brow. "I don't know. I'm still new to this whole...aristocratic household business. But the one I would trust in my absence would indeed be Madame Chambon."

"Discuss it with His Honor. That's my advice," said Emilie.

"Okay!" Luc said with a grin. "Because I _like_ your advice." He watched Emilie bow her head shyly. He noticed that the humidity made her hair curl in a little spiral down the middle of her back. Impulsively and unwisely, he reached out and wrapped the soft locks around his finger. He caught Adelaide staring, and moved his hand back.

"And there's another decision I have to make," he added. "I can choose a few servants to accompany us on the trip. I don't want to appoint you to be the one to supervise, because, well...I'd like _you_ to accompany _me_."

The pan full of buttery onions began to burn. Emilie quickly took them from the hot stove and poured them into a bowl, to mix in with the platters of fish that Madame Chambon was still baking.

"Me? You'd want me to come with you on a trip to the castle of the Prince of Alsace?" she asked in an excited whisper.

"Of course. Why not?"

"I...don't know…" She glanced around at the other maids cooking. Adelaide was giving them an odd look again.

"I have to finish the onions." She turned her back on him and began to walk towards the storeroom where the onions and other vegetables were kept. Luc followed her.

"Why are you following me?" she asked self-consciously, unused to a tall male presence so physically close. She could barely believe what had happened on the wooded trail the other day. She'd definitely enjoyed the moment when he'd linked his arm in hers...

"Making certain you don't waste onions," said Luc matter of factly. "I'm the Head of Household, after all. So I'm doing my job. Watching you." He still had a grin on his face.

Emilie opened the storeroom door and headed to the bags of vegetables. She found the crate of onions that had been delivered from a farm the autumn before. Only three were left.

"This is all there is," she said in disappointment as she picked up the three onions. They were overripe, soft, and growing green plant shoots from them. "I know! Instead of cooking these, we should plant them."

"What did you say?" Luc asked.

"I think we should find a bit of soil on the mansion grounds, dig some out, and put it in a pot in a sunny window, And grow the plants until it's warm enough outside that it won't be frosty. Then we'll have some onions to last. The three plants can multiply into many more onions. Same with all the other old vegetables sitting here-"

Luc drew closer to Emilie and took one of the onions in his hands. "Whose decision is that?" he said, putting on a 'stern' tone.

Emilie's mouth opened in embarrassment. She'd just caught herself making suggestions to the man who was now her new boss. Her old fear of authority made her tremble. Now any silly thoughts of her ever actually being... _with_ him would be dashed. Better now to realize that than later.

"It was _my_ decision," she said. "I'm sorry for being a bit outspoken. It's always been a fault of mine, especially before I fell ill with the smallpox."

Luc's stern look faded. He began to laugh, while Emilie was confused.

"That's a _brilliant_ idea!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to make a new announcement to the kitchen staff! All of these vegetables are to be planted, so we can save trips to the farms. Thank you for solving the problem, Emilie."

He reached out to touch the end of the ponytail falling over the side of her shoulder, beaming at her with an intensity that made her look everywhere else but him.

"Thank you...I do _like_ gardening," said Emilie nervously. "But you're not angry?"

"Why _would_ I be?" Luc nonchalantly glanced over at the aging boxes of last year's vegetables. He spotted a cabbage on the floor that was well past its edible state. Walking over to it, he began to stomp on it with his boot, until the cabbage was nothing but a flat, squishy disc on the wooden floor.

"Monsieur Luc! What are you _doing_?"

"Personally, I can't stand cabbage. We can do without it for a while."

"You're…" She shook her head incredulously.

"I'm _what_?" Luc drew closer to her, the onion still in his hand. He shoved it in his waistcoat pocket. "Cabbage is for lowly peasants and street rats, not for His Honor and the noble ladies. It was also the dish of my wretched upbringing. Aunt Agathe and her endless cabbage soups. _Horrifying_." He gave a mock shudder. "Please forgive me for that. If His Honor or his family like cabbage, which I doubt, we can certainly plant some in your garden, Emilie."

"Luc, you're so...unpredictable sometimes. I just can't... _read_ you. I feel like you're trying to test me. Find fault with me, and find a way to dismiss me."

"Now why would you think that?" Luc took another step closer to her and grinned again.

He had to admit, he enjoyed just _being_ with Emilie. Her firm principles, her outspoken opinions, combined with her very gentle modesty and tendency to skitter away like a shy mouse if he gave her _too_ much attention. Like a game of cat and mouse, really.

He was also terribly embarrassed about the other day- the fact he'd spilled out his secret dreams and crazy thoughts to her, exposing his mental weakness. He needed to get _some_ semblance of an upper hand over her as a man. Being Head of Household would work for his advantage quite nicely.

He watched Emilie squirm a little in discomfort. Luc wanted to continue to make her feel that way for just a little longer. And when the moment was right, he would 'rescue' her. Then he'd be her _hero_ again, and she'd want him- dote on him, live for him…

Emilie decided to take a deep breath, square her shoulders, and speak confidently.

"Because if you're the Head of Household now, you will consider it impossible for us to be close friends and talk, like we did the other day. You don't like anyone thinking you're _weak_! It's still a glaring fault of yours, Luc!" she blurted out.

Luc bit his lower lip. This was not the reaction he wanted.

"You think that?" he asked in a deflated tone, his playful attitude slipping away. ' _Just friends?_ ' he thought silently, with a sting of disappointment.

"Yes. But that doesn't mean I won't be willing to work for you. And it doesn't mean we can't be close friends at the same time. So if you're uncomfortable with me... _because_ of the fact we like each other...well, th-then you may as well dismiss me right now. Go ahead."

Emotion was clouding her confidence again; her eyes were stinging, her cheeks heating up at the same time. She needed to escape him, go back to the kitchen with everyone else.

Luc's expression turned somber and sad. " _Mon Dieu_ , Emilie...that's the last thing I'd ever want to do. Did...did you just say 'we like each other?'"

"Well, yes. You're a pleasant company, and on my end, I...I _am_ fond of you. Even if you're impossible sometimes."

His big grin returned. " _How_ fond of me?"

" _Stop_!" Emilie whispered, her cheeks reddening again. "I...I have to get back to the kitchen. I gave you my opinion on the vegetables, and so just...do what you will with it."

She moved away from him and began to walk out of the storage room, trying to find her breath. Her heart was fluttering in a rather pleasant way. It was too much strange emotion for her to handle.

"But I said I agree with your decision!" Luc argued, following right behind her and taking hold of her apron and skirt, tugging on them. Tugging on her _clothing_! This man was much too uncouth. She needed to escape to her normal life again.

Emilie walked faster until she felt him finally let go of her skirts.

"The vegetables will be planted," he said. "Your idea was perfect. I'll tell Madame Chambon," Luc declared in a nearly apologetic tone. "Forgive me for my ignorance, but...how long does it take an onion to grow into an onion plant, with ones this big?"

Emilie whirled around. The man was now innocently standing there, fumbling with the old onion he'd taken out of his pocket again. The look in his hazel eyes quite resembled that of a puppy dog's.

"My Maman had a garden once, " she explained with a sigh. "Adelaide and I used to help her. It takes a little over two months. Perhaps three. We planted in late May, and had onions by the middle of August. If we plant them in pots now, and move them outside in about a month, we'll have a harvest by July, I think."

"Thank you. I know nothing about harvesting or crops. You'll have to teach me more." His wide grin was more sheepish than confident. "I like a woman with knowledge," he added in a much lower tone.

Emilie shook her head, trying to fight off this crazy embarrassment. "Monsieur Luc, I'm just...not used to this."

He drew closer and put a gentle hand on her shoulder while pocketing the onion. "Not used to _what_?"

She averted her eyes. "Compliments. Kind words...except from Adelaide, or my parents or Madame Chambon. And _never_ kind words, or closeness...from a...from a man."

"Well, Emilie, you better start getting used to them."

Luc gave her a wink, pulled the two other onions from her hands, and pocketed them. Quickly, confidently, he began to swagger back into the kitchen. Emilie stood motionless; her heart fluttering rather pleasantly again as she tried to take a breath.

She then heard Luc's authoritative voice ringing from the kitchen.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the kitchen staff! Due to a shortage, all the remaining vegetables will be replanted to create a garden on the premises. Mademoiselle Emilie Fortier will be the gardener in charge. It was her idea, and I think it was brilliant! So from now until midsummer, the recipes will include only meat, fish, eggs and breads. I will be purchasing more of those soon. And of _course_ I will consult with His Honor and his family, to ask what kind of cuisine they desire under the limitations. If they _insist_ on vegetables in the meantime, I'll have to ban sugar and salt use in order to stick to our budget. Because you see, we'll have to make extra travels to purchase them. I ask for everybody's cooperation."

Madame Chambon spoke up. "Monsieur Luc, were there enough onions for tonight's _poisson_?"

"There were a few. I think the _poisson_ will be good enough for His Honor and Their Ladyships tonight. I'll ask them after dinner what they thought. Don't worry, though! If they complain... _I'll_ explain." He tapped his chest confidently. "What do you know? That _rhymes_!" he added with a silly grin.

Adelaide giggled. Emilie quietly crept back in the kitchen, joining Madame Chambon, Adelaide, and the others. She saw that Luc had left as quickly as he came in. He must have gone on to manage things elsewhere.

"Whew, he's gone," she said to Adelaide.

"So what were you _doing_ in the storage room, alone together for those few minutes?" Adelaide insisted with a teasing smile on her face.

"Giving my ideas on what to do about the vegetable shortage, of course," Emilie replied in a businesslike tone. "I just now thought of the idea of planting the old ones and create a garden. Then he took my little idea and made it law!" She shook her head in exasperation. "I'm surprised he did. Monsieur Valois would never listen to us women's opinions."

Adelaide crossed her arms and gave Emilie a side eye. "Of course he loves your opinions. I think he's crazy about you, Emilie," she whispered out of Madame Chambon's earshot.

"He is _not_!" Emilie whispered back. "He respects me though, and...that's actually kind of nice of him."

" _Nice_?" Adelaide's mouth gaped. " _Mon Dieu!_ I never thought you'd ever use that word to describe him. You hated it back in Paris, when Jean made you look after him. You would have never called him 'nice' then. But he has changed, I admit."

"He's changed so much," Emilie whispered in spite of herself. "He _is_ nice, once you get to know him. And kind, and funny, and…"

"Handsome?" her sister filled in.

"His face has character. Perhaps to me, yes. But he couldn't be interested in _me_. So don't give me false hope, Adelaide."

"It has to be true, then...you fancy him!" Adelaide beamed at her in joy.

"Adelaide, stop it!" She turned away from her sister, and rushed to pick up one of the platters of onion-dressed baked fish to take to the Marquis' family dining room. She and Adelaide, along with Madame Chambon, watched the family take a taste. To the cooks' relief, they all agreed it was delicious.

…

Adelaide and Emilie were about to turn in to bed in their shared room. Emilie didn't say a word, hoping her sister wouldn't bring up the topic of Monsieur Luc and either of them 'fancying' the other. She waited, nearly cringing, for the excited grin, the teasing smile. Instead, Adelaide seemed a little sad as she took her hair down and brushed out her thick curls.

"Are you okay?"

"Just tired."

"You are hardly ever 'tired' at nine o' clock. How's Charles?"

"Awful!" Adelaide said in frustration. "Seeing how Luc looks at you...it's almost the last straw. I know he's fond of you, but because you don't see your own beauty, you don't see it. But to me, it's obvious. And that man has more passion in his pinky finger than Charles does in his entire body. And...I'm a bit jealous."

"Jealous? Of me?"

"Not that I fancy Monsieur Luc or anything...I couldn't get over how grouchy and impossible he _used_ to be, and that put me off right away. But now...I _love_ that he likes you."

"Adelaide…"

"I wish Charles to feel for _me_ just the same. You see all these necklaces, and the flowers?" Adelaide gestured to the pretty gifts on her bedside table. "He gave them to me, and after a while I asked what he'd like me to give _him_ in return. I was expecting something romantic, like 'your love,' or even 'your hand in marriage.' You know what he said? ' _Nothing_ _much_. _I don't know yet_.' What kind of an answer is _that_? What is he waiting for? At least Luc acts a little bit flirty toward you. And _don't_ say he doesn't! I've seen flirting, Emilie, and that's what it is. Monsieur Luc thinks the world of you."

Emilie evaded the topic of their new Head of Household. "Charles is just kind of...awkward," she finally said. "If it isn't working out, if he ever comes around to proposing, turn him down. Don't feel responsible for his behavior."

Adelaide smiled. "Thank you, sister. I feel better just asking. You seem so much more happy and confident lately. I think it's Monsieur Luc's doing."

"Adelaide, stop. He's my friend for now, and he hasn't said a word about courtship or marriage. Once he does say it to me for real, you'll be the first to know. _Bon nuit._ " She lay her head down and pulled the blanket over her layers of clothing, trying to get warm in the still-chilly upper floors.

"Emilie?"

"What, sister?"

"Does the forest, and the memories...still bother you? Of those two awful men?"

"Sometimes. Yes. If you still need to talk about it, Addie, you can to me."

"I just want someone to hug me and tell me that it will never happen again. And I wish I could have helped Monsieur Luc beat that man silly, when I had the tree branch. Wish I hadn't been so clumsy, and I hadn't let him pull it from my hand and stab me like that. I wish I'd been _stronger_."

"It's okay. You fought your best," Emilie reassured her.

"Thank you." She paused for a moment and spoke again. "When I was doing Evangeline's hair today, she was crying because His Highness Prince Louis is leaving tomorrow. It was nice to have him around for _her_ sake _._ Now she'll be missing him, and her sadness is going to make life dreadful again."

"Just try to cheer her up. Talk about what a beautiful bride she will be."

"Emilie...do you think Prince Louis Jean-Baptiste is extremely handsome?"

"I suppose he is. In his own way. Why, do you have a crush on him?" It was Emilie's turn to tease her sister a little.

"Well, not really a crush. Sure, a lot of us think he's handsome. But Charles keeps mentioning it to me, and it's making me angry."

"Is he accusing you of having a crush on the Prince? He's insecure if he is."

"No, it's not that. It's just.. _.he_ talks about how handsome Louis is, all the time! More than he's ever called _me_ pretty. I wonder if he's so jealous of Louis, he actually wishes he were more _like_ him. It's so stupid! I'm sick of him going on about Louis-this, and Louis-that, and 'Louis' wonderful long blond locks' and 'how dashing he looks riding on his steed!' I'll be glad when he leaves because of how Charles acts. But then I'll have Evangeline _sad_ all the time!" Adelaide gave an exasperated groan. "Ugh! Why does my life have to be like this?"

"Addie. Come, now. You're starting to sound too much like Evangeline," Emilie chided. "I guess Charles _is_ a bit jealous of Prince Louis, for all his riches and good looks. Plus he's awkward, and I admire you for seeing past it. Just be patient. Once the Prince leaves, he'll be less jealous."

"Okay. Thank you, Emilie- I appreciate it when you allow me to talk. We just can't discuss things during the day." She paused for only a brief moment. "If you start a vegetable garden on the estate, may I help?"

"Of course."

"Just like we used to do at our nice little old house on the outskirts of Paris! Before we had to move to that dreary apartment building before we got our maid jobs. I wish Papa didn't lose _his_ job."

"Addie, I'm sorry he lost his job. I feel terrible thinking about that, because I wonder if it's my fault for getting smallpox. He missed work to take care of me, and had to pay doctors."

"It's not your fault, Emilie. It was his nasty boss' fault, for not understanding."

"Thank you. Well, good night," Emilie said, fluffing up her pillow.

" _Bon nuit_ , Emilie," Adelaide said with a yawn.

…

 _A.N.- Easter eggs as always. :) Let me know if you catch the other movies referred to here, besides BatB of course. You don't know how much fun I have doing that!_


	17. Aunt Agathe Returns

Chapter 17- Aunt Agathe Returns

...

Emilie cut the three onions into six separate sprouts, and put each in jars of water. She set them at the base of the tall window of the galley kitchen.

"Nice little project, Emilie, I like it," said Madame Chambon. "Can you girls do me a favor? The fire is getting low. Can either of you fetch some wood from the woodbox outside?"

"I can fetch the wood," said Adelaide, who was mixing bread dough nearby. "Evangeline doesn't even want me to do her hair or makeup today, so I'm here to help with anything."

"Merci, Addie," said Madame Chambon. "Emilie, help me get the breads in the oven and keep an eye on them so they won't burn. This is the last luncheon that Prince Louis will be here for before he goes back to Normandy. Poor Evangeline," the head maid said in a lowered tone. "She's upset because he's spending this morning on another foxhunt instead of spending time with his fiancee before he leaves."

"I can see how she'd be upset," Emilie said. "I don't understand the obsession with killing foxes. They're such pretty little animals. All to make coats or display them on walls. Even Monsieur Luc is caught up in it now. It makes him so happy, but it's odd to me."

Madame Chambon smiled gently. "Emilie, I think there's more than just foxhunts making Monsieur Luc happy."

"Yes, of course," Emilie replied, averting her eyes and aligning loaves on a pan. "He _does_ appreciate being appointed Head of Household. It's a boost to his ego, that's for certain." She laughed uneasily.

"Hmm...I'd say it's even more than that," Mme. Chambon pressed.

Emilie shrugged, her face burning, not wanting to say any more on the subject. Had Mme. Chambon picked up on something about Luc, or Emilie, or the two of them together- that wasn't there before?

The two maids prepared and salted the dozen baguette loaves. Mme. Chambon went out to the dining room with service plates. Emilie stood watching the oven, checking an old clock on the countertop so she could take them out after twelve minutes had passed.

Aloysius came out of the dishwashing station and approached her, sipping on a warm drink that smelled delicious. "Good morning, Emilie!" he greeted.

"Good morning! What are you drinking?" she asked.

"Apple cider. The wholesome kind, no alcohol, don't worry! I heated it up on that pot on the stove."

"Where did the apples come from? It's April, Monsieur Aloysius. Fruit and vegetables are scarce this time of year."

"I found some in the larder. Just a few." Aloysius took a ladle and dipped it into the apple cider, filling a small stoneware mug. "Here. Drink some."

Emilie put her hands around the warm mug and took a sip. "It's wonderful. Thank you."

She set the mug down after a moment and glanced at the clock. Eleven minutes. She put on potholders to prepare to take the bread out. "Monsieur Aloysius, do you enjoy working here, as a dishwasher?" she asked.

"Slightly." He gave an awkward shrug; a wry smile.

"I think you deserve more respect than you've gotten before. You seem very intelligent and kind. Especially to me."

"Why, thank you, mademoiselle!" he said with a bowed head. "This morning, Monsieur Luc said he was glad to have me around. I'm not used to such treatment by the Head of Household. Thanks to him, I've been able to do dishes faster and more efficiently."

Aloysius was telling only a partial truth. He was encouraged by Luc's jovial pep talks, but he often resorted to his magic wand when left alone. Not to mention the fact he brewed potions in the corner by the old washtub whenever he had a spare hour or two.

"Sounds like you needed encouragement, Monsieur," said Emilie. "Oh! Twelve minutes!" She opened the oven, and was greeted by warmth upon her face as she took out the two pans of golden brown baguettes. "Mmm… they smell so good! I wish we had some honey."

"You are out of honey?" Aloysius asked.

"Yes," replied Emilie. "And sugar as well. At least we won't have to serve Prince Louis, just the immediate family again. His Honor doesn't mind the shortages, but Their Ladyships may complain soon and require someone to take a long trip. I wonder who'll have to make the purchases?"

"Let me check the larder again," replied Aloysius. "You never know what I might find." He disappeared into the storage rooms.

Aloysius shut himself inside the storage room and found his hidden magic wand. He swept it in an arc, mumbling a low incantation. A swarm of bumblebees shot from the wand, circling around him, landing on a golden sphere he'd conjured in the air. The buzzing would make noise, he realized. So he performed a Silencing Charm.

Aloysius watched the bees work their magic, building a honeycomb over the floating ball. He held jars beneath it, and in moments they were flowing with golden honey. When five large glass jars were filled with the sweet confection, Aloysius opened a window and let the bees fly free.

"It's spring, you lovely creatures! Be gone! Go amongst the flower fields! _Merci_!" the Enchanter waved at the swarm of departing bees.

He tasted the honey. "Perfect," he whispered. He glanced over at his brand new cauldron of healing potion.

He'd made certain he'd used the correct formula. It was similar to that of love potion, but much more complex. Instead of causing a temporary false love, it was a test for true love.

Aloysius was familiar with basic love potion- it had to be boiled with a feather from a white dove's tail and a handful of Glowstone dust. But _this_ potion needed to be boiled with a white swan's wing feather, Glowstone dust, a pinch of cobweb, ten pebbles of agate stone, a bit of grass wet with morning dew, and a large Chantarelle mushroom.

Earlier, he had slipped some into Emilie's cider.

"Now to wait and see. Either way, no harm will come to her. But I'd like to see her happy and blessed," he said to himself.

...

"Luc, you may have a go. I'm sitting this one out," said Marquis Antoine, riding his horse alongside Luc's.

Luc hoisted the bow and secured the arrow, waiting for the dogs to chase any fox out of the forest. The barking of little Anne and the other hounds intensified as a very large red fox burst from the thick brush.

He prepared to aim at the running animal and shoot...but then he remembered a slight problem.

The rat in his old apartment. The excruciating headache which caused him to faint cold on the floor. His guardian angel woman, who'd warned him not to kill any living creatures from then on.

"Luc, are you ready?" the Marquis asked in slight impatience.

"I- I'm-" Luc had to make a decision, a dangerous one.

It wasn't _fair_! Why was he being controlled by these...spirits, or angels, or whatever they were, telling him what and what not to do? While everyone else in the world seemed to be able to do as they pleased?

He had been unable to drink any alcoholic beverages without a burning mouth as a side effect for nearly a whole _year._ There was that incident when he'd started to caress and grope that _femme de la nuit_ at the evening club back in Paris, and suffered unbearable agony the moment afterward. And finally, that disgusting rat.

Prince Louis, meanwhile, had drunk tons of champagne every evening. He'd shot almost twenty foxes and was greedy for more. He probably had his share of women before deciding to settle down with Evangeline. Why weren't the spirits torturing _him_?

 _It's all insanity_! Luc decided. It was merely in his head, a figment of his imagination. He was starting to feel better, after all. The dreams were fading away. He had friends, and a respectable job, and...well, Emilie. She brightened his days, drove away his demons. Perhaps he was cured of his lunacy by now. The visions, the voices, the tactile hallucinations- they would stop, once and for all.

There was only one way to find out. Luc aimed for the fox's hindquarters and let go of the bowstring. _Bullseye_!

"Incredible!" exclaimed Marquis Antoine. "Luc, you're a natural-"

He turned to his servant to congratulate him, and was shocked to see the man's features contort in agony, the bow and arrow drop to the ground. With a sharp cry, the unfortunate man slumped forward on his horse and began to slip down from the saddle.

"What on earth? Your Highness! Louis! Come quick!" Marquis Antoine exclaimed as he tried to dismount from his own horse. Louis rode up to the two, catching a side glance at the now-dead fox on the ground, pierced with an arrow and surrounded by barking hounds.

"What's _wrong_ with him?"

"I- I don't know!" The two tried to support the man- who was now a moaning, shaking mess, sliding off the saddle. Antoine tried to keep the spooked horse still, while Louis gripped Luc's upper thigh in an attempt to help him dismount.

"He looks ill," said Prince Louis with a wrinkled nose. "Good Lord, let's hope he doesn't throw up."

With that, Luc hung his head over the fine leather saddle and vomited on the grass. The horse whinnied and stomped, trying to rid himself of his rider. Prince Louis scowled in irritation, while Marquis Antoine shook his head, confused.

"Hold on, Monsieur," Marquis Antoine kindly assured him. "We'll get you back and get a doctor to come by as soon as we can."

…

There would be quite a wait for a doctor, since the Marquis' estate was a good carriage ride away from any cities and towns.

Luc lay on a bed surrounded by his friends- Jean, Emilie, Adelaide, and Aloysius- while everyone else entertained the nobles downstairs. His pain dulled a little, but it persisted. The only way he could describe it was that it felt as if a _real arrow_ had entered his right hip and pierced his innards. He tried to describe it while gasping and crying out, to his utter mortification in front of the women.

Jean, along with a butler named Monsieur Dupre who had been a war medic fifteen years before, had tugged off Luc's clothing for a few minutes to examine the source of the injury, but they found nothing. They'd seen what looked like an old bayonet or sword scar on his thigh, but that wasn't where he angrily insisted the pain was from. They helped him redress before the ladies came in.

" _Don't touch me anymore!_ Everyone just GO AWAY!" Luc growled. It made it worse to see all of them wringing their hands and fussing over him- even Emilie. She gave him a hurt look as she, Jean, and Adelaide left the room. Aloysius remained at his side.

"Why are you still here?"

"This is...well, this is my room also," said Aloysius. "What happened...the moment before you became ill?"

"Don't want to talk about it!" Luc shouted. " _Go!_ "

Aloysius rushed downstairs, past the laughing noble family members in the parlor, and into the storage room off the kitchen. " _Healing_ _potion_ ," he mumbled to himself.

He had to get permission from Agathe in order to magically help Luc in any way. He was _her_ assignment, not his. He put a Silencing Charm on the door. His Magic Mirror was upstairs in the top bunk of his bed, just above where Luc was lying at the moment.

" _Accès!_ " he whispered. The Mirror appeared in his hand. "Show me Agathe!"

"I'm here," the Enchantress said to him in a stressful tone.

"Something is wrong with Luc."

"I know. I was just observing him."

"So, tell me- was it another natural _Sans-Magie_ ailment? Or is it your curse?"

Agathe bowed her head sadly. "My curse."

"Confound it, Agathe!" Aloysius shouted. "How much torture do you wish to inflict upon this man? Aren't you going to help him? Help _me_?"

"I vowed to keep my hands off him and let the curse run its course-"

"Have you no compassion? Have you observed him lately?"

"Yes, but once a curse's rules are in place, there can be no alterations-"

"The way I see it, the man named Gaston Legume is dead and gone," Aloysius argued. "You're torturing an _innocent_ man who does not remember his crimes!"

"He made the choice to kill the creature. I was very disappointed, but I had to allow the natural consequence."

"Natural? _Natural?_ For-" Aloysius let out a stream of Enchanted-World epithets and swear words. Agathe stayed quiet and let him rant, until she heard him speak a real threat-

"I'm contacting _Le_ _Ministère!"_

"No!" Agathe shouted in alarm, her blonde coiffure shaking in Aloysius' mirror. "Don't go to _Le_ _Ministère!_ They are full of corruption, we can't trust them these days! I'll let you heal Luc. Do whatever you can to heal his painful condition."

"Undo the curse!"

"I can't!"

"It makes sense they are corrupt, because _your_ relatives are deep into it!" Aloysius accused.

"My relatives are yours, as well!" Agathe shouted back.

"I've decided I'd rather be _Sans-Magie!_ I'd rather scrub pots and pans with my fingernails for the rest of my life!" Aloysius yelled before hanging up on Agathe.

He watched the green glowing dot pulsating in the center of the Mirror. Repeating bars of haunting, minor-key harpsichord music issued from it, indicating she was still on and trying to call back. He laid his Mirror on a table face-down. Then, he took a ladle and scooped up his newly brewed potion, pouring it into one of the honey jars.

...

"I wish he'd let me comfort him," said Emilie to Adelaide. She and some of the others were eating a quiet lunch in the communal dining area.

"He's so angry, but I don't blame him. He's had things like this happen to him before," Jean recalled. Clémence, sitting next to him, nodded.

"Does anyone know what he has?" Charles asked. He was sitting next to Adelaide, a mopey look on his face. They suspected he wasn't sad about Luc's illness as much as he was about Prince Louis leaving.

"If it's not a disease, did he misfire the arrow? Did anybody notice anything?" Adelaide wondered out loud.

Jean shook his head. "No. He shot at a fox, took it down like a pro. He would have been so proud of himself to learn how to hunt, but His Honor said that the moment he took the fox, he collapsed in pain."

The door opened out in the hallway, and a man dressed in travel-wrinkled clothing, carrying a leather bag, walked in. Adelaide, who recognized the man, stood up to welcome him with relief shining on her face.

"Dr. Dumonseau!" she exclaimed.

The doctor faced the group with a hasty air. "Where is the patient?"

"I can lead you to him," Emilie said as she leapt from the table. "Please, Addie, Jean- let _me_ go up with the doctor alone. He doesn't want a crowd."

When Emilie and Dr. Dumonseau reached Luc, he was hissing through his teeth, shivering in pain on his bunk while lying in an almost fetal position.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur. My name is Dr. Dumonseau, and I'm here to examine you. I may have to do some blood-letting. I have a flask of whiskey as well. You should drink it to go to sleep and put a damper on the pain."

Luc's eyebrows lifted in horror at the sight of the doctor pulling a bottle of one-hundred-proof whiskey from his bag of tricks. His gaze shifted to Emilie; a look of pleading. The good doctor fished out a needle, some cloth towels, and a rubber syringe. Luc took a gasping breath and found strength to speak.

"Y-you don't have anything that will help! Leave! I _beg_ you!"

…

Downstairs near the kitchen, Aloysius was doing dishes. He felt the presence of a woman walking near him; the swish of a skirt and apron.

"Do you have more plates for me, girls? Merci-" He turned around and gasped.

" _Agathe!"_

It was indeed Agathe standing next to him; back in her elderly form, wearing a dull olive green maid's dress and ragged white apron. "I'm here to help."

"I hope no one saw you transport yourself here. _Break the curse_ ," Aloysius said in a stage whisper.

"I told you I can't. Let's do what we can. Is he upstairs?" she asked. He nodded.

"Since I'm in this form, he'll recognize and trust me," Agathe explained. "Where's the potion?"

"The jar of honey over there is infused with it. I can put it in some cider. Let's hope he cooperates."

...

Luc, meanwhile, was ranting at Dr. Dumonseau. "I have the right as a patient to refuse treatment!" he yelled at the man.

"Luc, please," consoled Emilie. "It's for the best. At least to get some sleep. The pain will heal-"

She was distracted by two people bursting in the door. Aloysius, and an old woman she hadn't met. " _Aunt Agathe_?" Luc cried out in disbelief upon seeing the newcomer.

The old woman tottered, slump-shouldered, to the bedside and lay a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Luc, my poor dear! I heard the servants downstairs say you were ill again!" she said tearfully.

"How did you find me? Where have you been?" Luc asked, still wincing at the pain in his hip and abdomen.

"I asked around and found my way here! Now is not the time for questions!" said Aunt Agathe.

"Luc, if you wish- why don't you just try this cider, if you don't want the whiskey?" Aloysius insisted, thrusting a mug of cider in Luc's face. "It's non-alcoholic. It'll help you, um, _much_ better than that poison!"

"Are you a _doctor_?" challenged Dr. Dumonseau.

"He's our dishwasher," said Luc. "But I'll take it over the fire water. Oh God, I don't _want_ to sleep!" he exclaimed in despair, terrified of where the insanity would take him next.

He grasped hold of the mug and gladly drank from it, while Aloysius and Agathe watched him with observant eyes. Aloysius tugged on Aunt Agathe's sleeve to coax her to leave the room and talk privately.

"Luc, dear, I'll be back in a while, and we'll talk more!" she called to him before walking out in the hallway.

"The draught does _not_ work to heal immediately," said Aloysius. "It is very powerful. Heals everything a person has ever suffered from, or _still_ suffers from. His current pain as well as the after-affects of _previous_ diseases and injuries! But, however...there are a few _provisos_ -"

"What are you talking about, cousin?" Agathe interrupted. "Potions were _never_ my strong point. I don't understand. What is this 'proviso?'"

"Agathe, let us just wait and see," he insisted, grasping his now-elderly cousin's shoulders. The two had changed their ages and physical appearances so often, that they barely recalled which of them was older. Aloysius was older in truth, but only by nine years.

"Please tell me you didn't contact the magical authorities," she said. "You cannot send a poor old woman like me to prison."

"I did no such thing. I never had the time." The two Enchanteds had to stop their discussion, as Dr. Dumonseau walked right past them and down the hall, muttering something about Luc being the 'stubbornest, most foolish man in all France."

They silently peeked in the door and saw Emilie seated on a pillow beside Luc, both of them now sharing the mug of cider, deep in conversation.

Aunt Agathe's pale old eyes reddened and misted as she watched Emilie grasp Luc's hand tightly in her own, squeezing it. The girl gazed at him with a soothing, almost loving expression. Luc appeared much calmer. The look in Emilie's eyes, in fact, reminded Agathe very much of Belle- with the Beast.

"Agathe, let's leave them alone," Aloysius whispered. Agathe nodded, and the two slipped downstairs.

...


	18. La Potion d'Amour Guérisseur

Chapter 18- La Potion d'Amour Guérisseur

…

"This is very good. And warm," Luc commented after he drank half of the cider. "Try some." With his hand trembling from the lingering pain, he held out the mug to Emilie.

She took a few sips. " _Merci_! Tastes like honey."

She gave him a gentle smile and took his hand. Luc's painful grimace relaxed a little at the kindness. They took turns sharing the mug of cider. When it was empty, Emilie set it on a bed stand. "How is the pain?" she asked.

Luc shifted in the bed to be more comfortable. "It's a _little_ better. Please thank His Honor for me. For allowing me to have a respectable job for such a short time. _If_ I don't survive this," he said sadly.

Emilie squeezed Luc's hand at the dire statement. "I wish you'd let the doctor treat you. You might be operated on, and I know it would hurt even more, it's a risk, but it could save your life!" She fought the tremble in her voice.

"No, this...isn't what you think it is," Luc insisted. "Surgery isn't what I need. Unless something can be done to me-" he gestured with his free hand to his temple- "up here."

"You're not insane, Luc."

"I _am_. I'm imagining this pain. Happens every time I...commit some kind of a vice. Killing something. Whatever harm I cause to others, even if it's just an animal...it comes back to punish me. It's the only way I can possibly explain this!"

Luc closed his eyes, trying to relax as the pain dulled slightly. "Why are you even _here_?" he asked Emilie after a moment. "What can a lunatic like me have to offer a decent, kind young woman?"

"I still don't think you're a lunatic...you've just been through a lot. And maybe things are going oddly in your mind, if that's what _you_ want to think. But that doesn't mean people should cast you aside."

He lay back, eyes still closed. Emilie caught a slight head shake.

"I _do_ want to be here. I am fond of you," she said softly, gazing at him with affection. "And I'll be here if you need me."

"Why?" Luc opened his eyes and glanced at their still-joined hands in disbelief. "Forgive me, but I need to know why you're lingering so close to me right now. Don't lie. I want honesty."

"Because you're a good man. Fair and kind, and hard working. I know you've been struck down with bad circumstances. The illness before, and now this one. You've been a survivor, just like I've tried to be."

"But now I have this ailment, and I'm convinced it _is_ mental. I'm defective," Luc argued. "Doctors cannot cure what is causing this. There was no physical arrow that I was shot by, but it _feels_ real. I don't understand. Either I'm insane...or it's some kind of cruel magic. As if I'm being haunted...some sort of _sorcery_ , almost. It...it scares me."

"I understand. It would terrify me, too." Emilie replied. "There can't be such a thing as magic. It's never been proven. I haven't seen it. But what can help you is accepting help, and knowing that people care."

Luc rolled his head to the right to face the wall. Emilie wasn't sure what to say next. She found herself babbling platitudes. Anything to keep the man's dark bitterness away.

"But look on the bright side. Your Aunt Agathe has been looking for you. It would be a shame if you refused help, when that poor aunt of yours traveled miles from Paris. Just to find you."

"I guess you're right," he mumbled. "And not just Aunt Agathe. _You_ , Emilie. I find it so hard to believe...that you could feel anything _more_ for me than just working friends."

Emilie felt her cheeks warming, like the other day in the vegetable cellar. "I _do_ feel fondness for you. But I _must_ be careful with where I allow my heart to go."

"What do you mean?" he asked, raising himself up slightly as the pain subsided even more. "Why must you be careful?"

"I...have trouble believing that I am worthy of-" she blinked back tears and whispered- "affection from a gentleman." Her eyes and throat burned at the revelation. She was sharing way too much.

Luc raised his eyebrows. A peculiar feeling was coming over him; a feeling of joy and light. The pain in his body was ebbing away rapidly. It was now only a dull, minor ache in his hip. He took a deep breath and exhaled. He hadn't been able to breathe properly for hours, and now he could.

"What's wrong?" Emilie said, studying his expression.

"I can breathe better."

"That's wonderful! Just keep your breaths steady, then."

"You ought to be a nurse, rather than just a maid," he said with a slightly amused expression.

" _Merci_ , but I couldn't. I normally can't stand the sight of blood," she said, lowering her gaze.

"Emilie." Luc said softly. "You've been...you're honestly the _one_ thing I look forward to each day. Even right now. My pain is going away because you're here."

"It is?"

"Yes. It is."

"Then I'll stay around," Emilie said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'll sit here with you as long as I can."

"But check to see if they need help preparing dinner at four. Head of Household's orders." He gave her a teasing smile.

"Oh, I will! And I'll need to see if Evangeline or the Marquess need me for anything."

"I don't think they do. If they did, Madame Chambon would be running upstairs by now to look for you."

"I guess you're right."

They sat there with a lull in the conversation, hands still clasped, for several moments. Soon, they heard an increased bustle of conversation and lively voices from downstairs. Emilie reluctantly let go of Luc's hand and rose to look out a window.

"The Prince is getting ready to depart. I see the coach out front. The family is saying their farewells." She watched from the window, as the aristocrats in the front lawn talked, standing in a circle, and took turns shaking hands with Prince Louis. Evangeline gave her betrothed a dignified handshake and curtsy, her pale yellow dress like a blossom in the spring sunshine.

The Prince boarded the coach and it took off down the path. Muffled conversation could be heard as the family returned to the front parlor two floors below; their voices rising from the staircase landing.

"I _should_ be down offering them a cup of tea," said Emilie.

"You can ask Madame Chambon if they need help. I don't mind."

Emilie drew away from the window and walked back to Luc, who was now sitting up on his bed, stretching his long, cramped legs out. She touched his arm in assurance. "I'll be back soon."

"Promise?" He gave her a mischievous grin.

"I promise. Wait...you don't seem to be in much pain at all anymore," Emilie said teasingly. "I hope this wasn't all a joke or act, like the boy who cried wolf."

"Believe me, Emilie! I'm not lying. I'm much better now. It's hard to explain. I think it's _you_. You have a magic touch."

"Maybe I ought to keep talking to you, if that's how you feel." Emilie's smile brightened.

"Please. That _is_ how I feel, so you _must_ keep me company most of the day." Luc stood up to his feet, towering over the petite maid once again.

What are you doing? You don't need to be getting up yet. You ought to stay in bed."

He ignored the admonishment, reaching out a finger to fiddle around with Emilie's white maid's cap. Its bonnet strings were untied, and he playfully tugged on one of them until it started to come off. Emilie removed her cap and ran a hand through her long hair, while Luc watched her in admiration.

"You look lovely with your hair down," he said.

"Give me a moment to check on the family," Her head was swirling with mixed emotions at yet another underhanded flirting attempt. She turned to go downstairs to see to the family, but Luc reached out his hand and grasped hers once more, urging her to stay.

"Emilie, you're overly responsible. The parlor downstairs is crowded with servants. If you want to do anything, find some of your sewing to do here. Upstairs with _me_."

He was back to being the playful, overly forward man who teased her every once in a while. She hated the fact she was fond of it.

"Are you _positive_ the pain is gone?" Emilie asked him.

"Of course."

"Then what do you wish to do? You can join His Honor, so he isn't worried about you all day."

"Let him worry. What I _wish_ to do, is continue our conversation. I'd meant to express something to you earlier, but...somehow we were sidetracked. Can we _please_ have that moment back?"

She lowered her eyes. "Yes. You asked me a question of why I'm hanging about here in your room, at least while you were still ill."

Luc's gaze intensified with emotion he seemed determined to hold back. Emilie noticed that even his _face_ was getting better, not just the pain episode. His pox scars, even the large, tea-colored ones, had become less noticeable, perhaps hidden with a ruddy tinge.

 _Was he blushing?_ A hopeful joy filled her heart.

"Why are you acting so odd?" Emilie asked in a shy, tentative tone. "Your mood keeps changing, even faster than usual. Do you _ever_ have a happy medium?"

"Probably not. Is that alright with you?"

"It is. I just wish you'd say the thing that you wanted to express, and be done with it."

"Are you certain?" Luc asked as the rakish grin spread across his face again. "Do you know you're _beautiful_?"

Her mouth opened. " _Monsieur!_ I-"

"It's easy to see."

"Luc, _please._ I'm not used to such flattery. I hope to reflect beauty in my good works and attitudes."

"You _must_ marry me someday."

Emilie clasped her hand over her mouth in shock at his blunt lack of discretion and judgement. Her emotions- pleasant but very awkward- came out in an exhaled laugh of disbelief. She fought it off and forced a frown.

" _I beg your pardon_?"

His grin faded. "Don't be angry, Emilie! I'm dead serious."

"May I have some time to think the idea over?" she blurted out. "Luc, I have to say, the idea that we could be even _having_ such a conversation is beyond-" She let the sentence die.

"You were _going_ to say crazy. It's all right," said Luc. He gave her hand a little squeeze.

"Should I tell everyone you're feeling better this evening?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I'd like to not be bothered. Tell them I'm sleeping."

"But that's a _lie_ , Monsieur Luc." She backed away from him again. His hazel-eyed gaze was too intense for her, yet was drawing her closer. She needed to keep guarding her heart.

"I don't want to be dishonest…and I don't want _you_ to be dishonest with me about your supposed…" Emilie let _that_ sentence trail in embarrassment.

"Supposed _what_? What am I not making _clear_ to you, Emilie?" His expression turned sad, defeated.

"Supposed...fondness. Of _me_ ," she whispered. "It's cruel." Tears prickled her eyes.

Before she could wipe them away, Luc put his other hand on her cheek and lower eyelid, wiping away the tear that threatened to fall.

"I am very sorry for acting so rude again," he said in the softest whisper. "Forgive me for being forward and presumptuous. It's...it's difficult, for an uneducated fool like me, to behave _any_ other way around a woman. A woman I intensely _like._ It's a terrible habit."

Emilie's eyes widened. "I forgive you. I want to-"

"And it's _more_ than like. More than fondness," he interrupted. "I just _feel_ too much, and I want to do _right_ by you, and-"

Words lost, he simply pulled her into an embrace. Emilie welcomed the gesture, resting her head in the fabric of his white shirt against his firm chest, feeling so small in comparison. It was a heady feeling. His masculine presence, the protective way he held her, was almost more than she could bear.

He grasped her shoulders and let her pull away for some breathing room. "Sorry," he said with a nervous laugh. "Too much?"

" _Please_ tell me what you mean by 'more than fondness.'" Her voice trembled. She wanted no more games. Not one more moment of manipulation.

Luc's eyes burned into hers, growing misty, turbulent. " _Emilie_."

Warmth flooded her soul at the way he said her name. It was more than just him saying her name, it was a caress. She reached up to touch his cheek, where a sprinkling of faded smallpox marks remained. The thought came to her to simply kiss his cheek. But would that be too bold and foolish on her part?

"Luc, _please._ Please say something."

He inhaled a breath. "I'm in love with you, Emilie. That's why I asked if you'd marry me someday. Because I'm not a liar. And I'm not the man I was, playing games. I'm _insanely_ in love with you, and I fear that you won't return the sentiment." He awkwardly poked a long, lean finger to one of his bloodshot eyes.

"I...love you just as well," Emilie blurted out, taking a step of courage. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek- once, twice, three times. He pulled her closer in an embrace.

She felt so safe and warm, so at _home._ Heat burned her face, as if she were pulling open the oven in the kitchen downstairs to take out hot bread. Joy and comfort overcame her all at once.

He searched her eyes, asking permission without words. "What?" she asked with a nervous smile.

"This." He bowed his head to her turned face and gently kissed her cheek, two times. " _Emilie_..." Mumbling her name under his breath, he moved swiftly towards her mouth, to take her lips.

She closed her eyes to savor the moment. His lips were soft, yielding, and deliciously cool. Her right hand clutched at his shoulder as she allowed him a few more seconds to deepen the kiss. It was too, _too_ good. She heard herself sigh into his lips.

The reality of what she was doing hit her like a shock. The thought of Lady Evangeline, the Marquess, and Madame Chambon just downstairs, within earshot. The impropriety! Evangeline would not even be _doing_ this with Prince Louis yet, and they were betrothed!

Emilie stiffened her body, broke the kiss, and sought his face to apologize. "I'm sorry, I-"

To her bewilderment he looked a bit different. His smallpox scars were gone as if he'd never been struck with the dreaded disease.

"Luc?"

" _Mon Dieu_ , Emilie! You're _healed_!" he cried out with an almost childish joy. "I mean, you have no smallpox scars anymore. What on _earth_?"

"Yours have healed, too!" she exclaimed.

"It's magic, or my insanity playing a trick on me. I can't _believe_ this. I need to see a mirror to prove it!"

He stepped away from her to approach the window, his bearing tall and proud as he swept a modest woolen curtain aside to find some kind of reflection. But it was a sunny day.

"Are you sure?" he asked, turning back to her.

"Yes. Feel your face." Emilie reached to feel her own; it felt smooth and lacking in bumps or indentations.

Luc swept out of the room and down the hallway, to where an old glass-covered curio cabinet stood near the stair landing. He drew near, and joy overcame him as he beheld his healthy, handsome visage, unmarred by those hated, tea-colored blots that had been everywhere, disguising his good features.

"It's a miracle!" Luc cried as he rushed to hug Emilie and give her a chase kiss on her forehead. "How did this happen? Is it _you_ , and your love that healed me? It must be crazy, but I don't care. Oh God, Emilie, I love you so much!"

"I love you, too," she said in a trembling voice. "Let's be quiet about it, they might hear us! We shouldn't be-"

"Then say you'll _marry_ me. Then we can be as improper as we wish," he said in a fierce whisper.

"Luc!" she whispered back. "I think the world of you. But engagement is a _serious_ and life changing event. Can you give me some time? Just a little?"

"All right," he said, still joyous. "You can sleep on that thought for a few nights."

"Thank you. I _will_ sleep on the thought."

" _Alone_. Without the warmth and security of a manly, virile Head of Household, who wants to make a family with you."

Emilie began to laugh, a joy that was apt to make her float up to the ceiling. "You're _too_ much."

"Yep."

Emilie could not stop her merry giggles. She and Luc embraced again.

After what seemed an eternity of tender hugging, feeling the touch of his lips on her now-clear and fair forehead, she heard footsteps. They sensed the presence of people invading their privacy.

It was only Luc's Aunt Agathe, with Aloysius.

"Monsieur Luc, what are you doing out of bed?" Aloysius exclaimed. The older man's blue eyes bugged open at the sight of catching them in another awkward moment.

"Aunt Agathe!" Luc cried out. "I'm well again! It's a miracle!"

"The pain is healed? _Mon Dieu!_ It is! And the smallpox marks too!" she exclaimed, hugging her nephew.

"But how? I just don't understand! Look at Emilie...her scars have healed too!"

"Oh my! What a lovely young lady. I haven't been properly introduced to your friend!"

"This is Emilie," Luc sad proudly, his hand on her shoulder. "She's my...my…"

"I'm just one of the maids here," Emilie filled in. "We've known each other since he lived in his old place in Paris. And I'm a cousin of his friend Jean Paquet's wife."

"Luc, dear...let me look at you...now what were you two _doing_ for the last half hour or so?" Aunt Agathe asked in an innocuous tone.

"We were just talking. And...well, _talking_." said Luc.

Aunt Agathe looked at Aloysius, exchanging a knowing smile. The kiss of true love had worked, with the aid of Aloysius' special potion.

"Luc, can Monsieur Guérisseur and I speak with both of you in a room...privately? So the rest of the household downstairs is not apt to listen in?" Aunt Agathe asked him.

"I don't see why not." He gestured for the two to walk with him and Emilie back into the bedroom and pulled the door closed. Luc gave Aloysius a look of suspicion.

"Monsieur, something tells me that you have more talents than you show yourself to have." He walked over to where the empty cider mug still lay at his bedside and picked it up. "Tell me, are you actually some kind of doctor? Or apothecary of medicines? I wonder if drinking this helped us."

Aloysius bowed his head. "I must say in sincerity, yes. I _am_ indeed a healer 'of some kind.' You see, my surname is Guérisseur, and so healing is a talent of my forefathers, I admit. I made the medicine that you drank in the cider. It was in the honey, to be exact."

Luc stared at Aloysius for a moment, and the older man looked alarmed for a moment. "Please don't be angry."

"I'm not. _Thank you_." His eyes began to tear up with joy and gratitude. He reached out to shake Aloysius' hand. "You've been a good friend, I can't thank you enough."

"Thank you so much, Monsieur Aloysius!" Emilie exclaimed. She stepped forward to embrace the man, and he smiled in triumph as he looked upon her fair-skinned face. The 'sickly' look had melted away, revealing a modestly pretty young woman with gentle brown eyes, a rounded chin, and a light dusting of freckles.

The two had healed each other through love. True, deep, intensely personal love. Aloysius just _had_ to brew that potion once Agathe allowed him to. And if he were to get in trouble with _Le Ministère_ \- so be it.

"Why do you keep this a secret? You can sell this medicine and be a very wealthy man!" said Luc. "Why be so secretive about it?"

Agathe wrung her aged hands nervously. She had wanted to reveal the truth of her magic to Luc. To transform into the younger 'guardian angel' woman whom he had seen. But Aloysius had argued against it for the last fifteen minutes. Since he was the brewer of _La Potion d'Amour Guérisseur,_ and had blessed the two with such happiness, Agathe conceded to her cousin's wishes.

"I'd like to know why, Monsieur Aloysius. Why you hid such a talent," Emilie said. "If this medicine you have creates such a miracle as to heal our smallpox scars and Luc's pain so quickly, then _why_ did you sneak it upon us without asking? I mean this with all respect. I'm so happy, but it's just too... _strange_ to me, Monsieur. I'm afraid it won't last!"

"I promise you it will last," the Enchanted potion-brewer assured. "I am a professional, but I prefer to keep it low key. If this leaks out, my belongings could be ransacked, someone may try to steal my formulas, and I could get some very unwelcome attention from too many people."

"He's an eccentric genius, Luc," Aunt Agathe added, as to calm the suspicion rising in her sharp-witted nephew. She began to cough a little; Luc rushed to pat her shoulder in comfort.

"I'm sorry," she gasped between coughs. "It must only be a slight cold."

"I hope so," said Luc. "I know _we_ couldn't catch smallpox again, I'd hope, but Monsieur Aloysius and you might not be so lucky."

"No, believe me, dear," said Agathe. "I will never catch your diseases...I mean, it's _just_ old age. I don't have long, you see. The wet air in Paris, during travel, it wore me out, that is all."

"Then you must go to a guest room and rest," said Luc. "Has the Marquis or any of the staff offered you their hospitality?"

"They have. So I must go get some rest. Shall we leave them be?" she asked her Enchanted cousin with a conspiratorial smile.

"I believe so. Now, Agathe, you go on to bed." The two turned to leave.

"Thank you for your kindness to my aunt!" Luc said to the older man. "You're the best, Aloysius! Get well soon, Aunt Agathe! Sleep tight!"

 _"Merci_ ," Aloysius said, and took Aunt Agathe by the arm to escort her to a guest room. When they left, Luc turned to Emilie.

"How are we going to explain this?" she asked him. "Everyone is going to carry on about it. Especially my sister, and the family."

"You have a point there," said Luc. "But, the family isn't that familiar with smallpox, from what I know. Even His Honor asked me once if I will heal completely. I had told him, 'perhaps.' So maybe he and the ladies won't be shocked."

"I hope." Emilie drew closer to Luc again. She raised her arms confidently and lovingly, to give _her_ Monsieur Luc a hug. "I love you," she whispered.

Luc checked the door to ensure it was closed. Then, he put both palms on Emilie's cheeks, capturing her lips in another sweet, enduring kiss. Then another, and _another_ \- mumbling words of his love for her with each breath.

"I love you so much...my sweet lady... _ma petite_ -"

Emilie's insides did a flip at hearing such loving words. She sighed into his chest and hugged his waist. "Luc, you're making me so happy... I can't stand it!"

"I want you to know...you've _always_ been incredibly beautiful, in every way I can imagine. I don't deserve you."

She laughed a little at his overly dramatic phrasing. " _You_ do. You deserve everything...and I've decided."

"Decided what?"

"That I will become your wife. _Someday_. Just give me _time_ to get used to the idea."

Luc grinned down at his beloved with the intensity of the clear day's sun. " _Perfect!_ But you must allow me to purchase a ring for you, as soon as possible. So you'll have it on your finger when you come with me to visit that Prince in his great palace."

Emilie shyly shook her head, blushing. Luc continued.

" _Picture_ it! You and me. My engagement ring on your finger, we'll be dressed in our finest, learning how to dance the minuet in the castle of the wealthiest Prince in France! You'll be beautiful, and I'll be...not so bad myself." He straightened his shoulders. "Every eye will be upon us."

"Every eye?" she said. "I don't really _like_ being the center of attention. I'd rather you and me blend in with the others, and enjoy each other at the party. And our friends. I hope Adelaide, and Jean, and Clémence can come along, if it is all right with His Honor."

"All right. I'll ask him." He kissed her forehead. The light touch of his lips made Emilie melt with joy.

...


	19. A Trip to Paris

Chapter 19- A Trip to Paris

…

Luc and Emilie rejoined the rest of the staff with the Marquis and his family on the main floor of the estate. They were greeted with amazed gasps and exclamations. The couple attributed it to natural healing, since they didn't know how to explain it without revealing Aloysius' secret.

Everyone accepted the miracle as a blessing. They gushed over their healed skin to the point where it bothered the two of them. People seemed to make a much bigger deal of it than it ought to be.

"It's just skin," Emilie said softly to Luc when they had a moment alone before retiring for the night.

Luc nodded solemnly. "I know. I don't feel that much different other than looking in a mirror. I'm the same person I always was."

"Well, actually-" Emilie said with a gentle smile, "-you've changed greatly from the first time I met you. On the inside, and for the _better_ , of course."

He hugged her close, laughing softly. "But I couldn't have done so without your patience and kindness. Good night, _ma petite_." He gave her a kiss on the top of her head, then watched her go upstairs to her room, thinking that he was the luckiest man on earth.

…

Aunt Agathe stayed for the next few days- visiting Luc, getting to know Emilie, the other servants, and the masters of the household. She was surprised how kind and hospitable the aristocratic family was, and how Luc had flourished in their employment with his newfound positive attitude.

One evening, while Emilie was mending a dress for Evangeline, Luc and Aunt Agathe were sitting in the parlor alone.

"I need to go back to where I've been staying," Aunt Agathe announced. "I'll be leaving tomorrow."

"But _tante_ , are you sure you are in good health enough to travel? Where is it you are staying?" he inquired.

"With a friend. And I'm _not_ in poor health. I'm only old, dear," argued Agathe.

"Who is this friend?" Luc persisted.

"You are terribly nosy," the old woman said with a smile. "But if you insist, the friend I am going to visit is a young noblewoman. She lives in a great chateau, with the loveliest rose gardens. She and her husband have been married for almost a year. They live far from Paris. It's a place I've come to love most of all, and where I plan to spend my last years of life."

"Oh. And where is that?" Luc asked.

Agathe looked at him for a moment before speaking. She had no desire to even tell him of the place. It was too close to Luc's former life, and the very _last_ place she wanted him to go.

"East of here," she said simply.

Luc shrugged and yawned dramatically, stretching his arms out. "Excuse me, _tante_ , I'm exhausted. Well, if some noble lady in the lap of luxury is taking care of you now, then give her my blessing. Though I wish you'd consider coming to stay with us again once in a while."

"Don't worry. I will. I just feel like a burden to overstay my welcome."

"I could ask His Honor the Marquis. Since you're my relative and my dependent."

"No, Luc. Please don't. I don't wish to be your 'dependent.' I made plans," Agathe said firmly.

Luc frowned at her in concern. "You're certain?"

" _Oui_. I am leaving tomorrow."

"But Aunt Agathe- you _must_ come back for our wedding eventually. Emilie and I will marry. When she's ready, of course."

"And I'm so very happy for you, dear!" The old woman beamed in joy. "To think that you once told me you would _never_ get married. That you only wanted the roving life of wine and cheap women."

Luc's shoulders slumped at the mention of his former vices. "I guess. I'm not proud of it. Back then I had so little to _offer_ any woman. My pride was wounded. Took me a long time to grow up, you could say."

"It's all right. I'm very proud of the man you are now." She stood up on her unsteady feet, clutching a chair arm. "Would you mind walking me upstairs to my guest room? And I want to say our goodbyes. I will be rising for my coach very early in the morning."

Luc took Aunt Agathe's arm gently and escorted her to the staircase. "Shall I wake you up?"

"No- I mean, I need no one's help. I can manage, Luc dear."

When Luc reached the door of her guest room, he gave Agathe a soft hug, careful not to crush his old aunt. She kissed his cheek. "Have a good night, and I promise I will return for your wedding someday. I will give my correspondence to the Marquis."

"Very well. I love you, Aunt Agathe."

"Love you too, dear. _Bonne nuit_."

The next morning, Agathe rose at four in the morning and padded outside in her careworn clothes. When she was alone in the still of the pre-dawn, she waved her wand to transform back into her youthful form. Then, she waited for the coach and horses.

Instead of rolling in from the gated drive, her coach came flying from the wispy clouds of the eastern sky. It was completely silent until it touched down on land. As soon as it hit ground, the sounds of horses, wheels, and squeaky axles could be heard just as loudly as a _Sans-Magie_ stagecoach and team. The driver was dressed in a black cloak and tricorn hat.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Agathe," said the coachman.

"Bonjour, Marcel."

"To the Prince of Alsace's castle? Or back to the forest on his lands?" the young Enchanted man asked.

"The forest, please." Agathe directed, giving Marcel one _Dix d'Argent_ coin.

"Of course, Mademoiselle. The clouds are forming, so buckle up! It may be a bumpy ride!" Marcel exclaimed with a laugh.

While seated inside the flying coach she'd chartered, Agathe listened in on Luc's conversations in her Mirror, with a feeling of satisfaction that her 'project' of redeeming this man had succeeded. She observed him as he sat through a breakfast tea with Marquis Antoine, the Marquess, and Evangeline. She was about to fall asleep when she heard Marquis Antoine's voice utter a name which made her ears perk up.

" _Luc, have you decided which staff members will accompany us when we go to Prince Adam's castle in June?"_

In shock, Agathe re-wound and re-played the conversation she had just missed. "Oh, no. _No_!" she fretted. "How can I keep him away? This cannot _happen_!"

Agathe could not beg Luc to stay away from Prince Adam's castle in the person of his old aunt. And she should no longer warn him in a dream vision, as he was now known to rebel.

She had to come up with a plan to keep that trip from ever taking place.

…

The month of May brought fragrant blossoms, dandelions, and the return of songbirds. Luc and Emilie spent every free moment together, enjoying the closeness, complete trust, and laughter of a couple growing in true love. They tended the gardens together, walked in the forest path, and occasionally took rides into nearby towns to buy the victuals that the household needed for their meals.

A day finally came when Emilie and Adelaide were allowed to visit their parents for a while in Paris. Luc traveled along with them. As they rode into the bustling city in a carriage provided by the Marquis, Luc fidgeted with the cravat tied around his neck. He drummed his fingers on the windowpane with nervousness. He was about to officially ask Monsieur Fortier for Emilie's hand.

"He may remember me." Luc mumbled.

"But he might not," Adelaide said cheerfully, sitting across from Emilie and Luc. For about the four-hundredth time, she exclaimed, "You two are just the most gorgeous couple I have ever _seen_!"

"I _know._ " said Luc before Emilie shot him an exasperated glance. "I mean- _merci,_ Adelaide dear. And once the man of your dreams snatches you up, you'll be coming in at a very close second."

"Luc!" scolded Emilie, patting his elbow.

"All I know is that the man of my dreams will _not_ be Charles," Adelaide said with a sigh. "Luc, did Emilie tell you?"

"No! You mean you two are on the outs? I'm sorry," said Luc.

"It's all right. He proposed two days ago. I made the decision to turn him down."

"You turned a _proposal_ down?" Luc asked in shock. Adelaide and Emilie both nodded.

"I'm glad I did," said Adelaide. "His 'proposal', if you'd even call it that, was too wooden and forced. He just...he doesn't feel for me the way _you_ love Emilie. And I'm not sure I feel that much, you know... _l'amour_ for him anymore. We grew apart."

"It's all right. You deserve all the happiness in the world, dear sister!" Emilie said in comfort.

Luc gazed out the window, a bit of guilt nagging him. A week before, he firmly 'encouraged' Charles to propose to the girl, rather than string her along. He'd been unaware of Adelaide's rejection. The last time Luc had seen Charles, the man did not appear very heartbroken. Luc was sure he'd made the right decision by causing that relationship to die abruptly rather than fizzle in misery. But that was not the reason he felt guilty.

What made Luc feel guilty was the fact that he'd snooped around in Charles' desk while the other man was busy styling the Marquis' hair. He'd been using his 'head of household' privileges, and found a letter addressed to Charles, filled with affectionate and flowery language. It was not signed with Adelaide's simple handwriting, nor did it bear her name. Instead, the letter was penned in a elaborate and cultured script, by a person named either 'Louise' or 'Louis.' He wasn't quite sure which.

He hoped it was the former- for Lady Evangeline's sake.

…

From the expression on Emilie's father's face, the man _did_ recognize Luc Avenant as the one who had rudely turned down the offer of dinner with his family, a distant eight months ago.

"Monsieur, we met at Jean and Clemence's wedding party. You're _still_ an acquaintance of my daughters?" Monsieur Fortier said in a curt no-nonsense tone.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur," Luc greeted, bowing his head. "I came along to escort your daughters, and...I have something to ask you."

"Come in and sit down," said Fortier, introducing him to the sisters' mother, Marjorie, who was busy hugging her daughters. " _Emilie_!" she cried out. "Your scars from your smallpox! They've faded! I have never seen anyone's scars go away like that. Our neighbor man had smallpox years ago, and he _still_ has terrible scars. It's a miracle!"

"I was hoping you would notice," said Emilie shyly. "I'm feeling much better now."

"But Emilie, remember you were always beautiful," said her father. "There was never a moment in your life when you were anything but."

Luc beamed at his ladylove. Her hair was down and she wore a red-sprigged cotton dress that brought extra color to her complexion. She looked like a rose. Courage built within him to ask her parents the big question.

"Monsieur and Madame," Luc began, as they were all seated in spindly chairs around the kitchen, the smell of boiling cabbage soup filling the room. "I am telling the truth that I wanted to escort the girls home to see you. But I also have- um, Emilie and I have an announcement to make. We...well, _I_ want to ask you for her hand in marriage."

Madame Fortier broke into a great, tearful smile. Monsieur Fortier gave Luc a skeptical look. "How long have you been courting?" he asked.

Emilie and Luc looked at each other. "A month," they said in unison. About three weeks had passed, though, since they shared that magical kiss.

"But Luc and I have known each other well since the middle of winter," Emilie told her father gently. "He has been promoted to Head of Household for the Marquis de Brumagne. He's a good man."

M. Fortier nodded, then turned to Luc with a serious expression. "May I ask you about last fall, when you turned down the offer to join us for dinner? You had said your aunt was ill?"

"I apologize for that day. I wish I could have made it then."

"My first thought of you was that you were a hard working fellow, and that you had quite a bit of pride in yourself," M. Fortier recalled. "I thought it was arrogant pride. But maybe I was wrong."

"You weren't," Luc said in a quiet voice. "You were right. I've had that fault for a long time. But the hard lessons in life caused me to think of my attitude. Instead of feeling angry and envious of those in higher stations, I've tried to work hard instead, to raise myself up."

"So you are able to provide decently for our daughter?" asked M. Fortier.

"Yes," Luc nodded politely in his chair, all effects of arrogance gone. " A modest living, but we're happy where we are as servants. I have dreams of doing other things in the future, of course. Someday I'd like to own a farm."

Emilie glanced over at Luc and smiled at the thought. "That would be so peaceful. Country life, having gardens and animals to raise."

"Doesn't sound like a great thing to aspire to, but it's respectable," said M. Fortier. He stood up and went over to Luc, offering his hand for a shake. "Welcome to the family. You have my blessing."

Adelaide clapped her hands in giddy excitement. "My future brother in law!" she exclaimed. Marjorie Fortier rushed to hug her future son in law. "You two will make such handsome children," she blurted out.

"Maman!" Emilie whispered in slight embarrassment.

…

After dinner, Luc and Emilie, with Adelaide feeling like a third wheel, went walking along the streets of downtown Paris, enjoying the architecture, the cathedral bells, and a few street artists and vendors selling their wares. Luc kept an eye out for jewelers, but did not see any. Besides, he wanted to surprise Emilie with a ring, not purchase one in her presence. He would have to shop for one when they were back at their parents' home at night.

"I feel like I ought to go visit the old neighborhood," said Luc as the three of them stood at a street corner. "But it's a long way to walk and I don't want to tire you girls. I have a few livres burning my pocket. Our borrowed carriage is over at my hotel. Should we hail a cab?"

"Sure," Emilie and Adelaide agreed. As soon as they'd spoken, a stagecoach came clattering over to a halt beside them.

"Would you good people care for a ride? Two livres is all I charge," the driver announced. He was driving a midnight black, plush-looking stagecoach with curtains on its windows.

"Are you certain? That's all? For how far, three city blocks?" Luc asked with a slight scoff of disbelief. Usually only aristocrats traveled in vehicles as fancy as these.

"I am in earnest, Monsieur. I can give you a long tour for four livres, or a short one for two."

Adelaide happily pulled two coins out of her own handbag that held a bit of her earnings. "I think we should. It will be fun. And why not go see your old neighborhood? A chance to say goodbye."

Luc nodded. "Or rather, good _riddance_ to that cesspool. You've been lucky enough not to see it, Addie."

"It was infested with rats," said Emilie. "Luc, are you sure you'd want to go back?"

Adelaide made a horrified face while Luc reconsidered, his arm around Emilie's shoulders. "Then again, maybe not." He glanced at the patiently waiting coachman. "Let's take the long tour, Monsieur! Four livres."

" _Merci_! Climb on aboard," said the driver.

Inside the coach, Emilie and Luc settled on one plush velvet bench seat together, their hands clasped. Adelaide sat on the other side alone, fidgeting in her pink silk purse. She pulled a powder puff from the bag and dabbed at her nose, then took a rouge brush to her cheeks. She kept re-applying makeup while Emilie shot her a look of exasperation.

"Addie, you don't need that."

Adelaide frowned. "But I do. _You're_ the prettier one of us now. Besides, I like it, and I never get to indulge in makeup around the family. Or our parents."

"Adelaide. You and your sister are equally beautiful. Now that's _enough_ ," said Luc firmly. Adelaide quieted, while the coach lurched every time it turned a swift corner. She spoke again in a slight complaining tone. "Where is he taking us?"

"It's probably in a loop from where we started. Don't worry," Emilie assured.

"I'm a little bored," said Adelaide. "How about I leave you lovebirds alone to steal a kiss, while I give our coachman directions. I know some places I'd like to see, and if we're paying for a tour, I'd like to get my money's worth!"

"Go ahead, Adelaide. Annoy the poor driver," Luc teased.

Adelaide gladly opened her window and poked her head out to call up to the coachman. "Please Monsieur, can you stop at the next street? I'd like to ask you something!"

They were surprised to feel the coach immediately halt at the sidewalk. The carriage rocked as the driver hopped down from his top front seat and opened the door.

"Do you have any request of where to go, Mademoiselle?" the coachman asked, bowing slightly as if Adelaide were a Princess or Marquis' daughter herself.

"Oh! How kind of you," Adelaide smiled back at him in great pleasure as she hopped out. The coachman, tall and dressed in black from head to toe, was roughly Adelaide's age, with dark skin, dimples, and a genuine smile.

"Don't be shy, Mademoiselle. Name the location," he urged. "Or shall I call you Madame?" he then added quickly.

"It's Mademoiselle! And I'd love to see the park by the Seine," Adelaide replied. "It's such a romantic place this time of year. My sister and her fiance would like to see it, too."

"Very well then! Climb back in and make yourself comfortable," said the coachman.

"Actually, may I sit up on top?" Adelaide asked. "I'm a little warm with the windows. And I don't want to miss any details of the buildings."

The coachman was a bit taken aback. "I suppose I don't mind the company. Here, I'll help you up."

Luc and Emilie watched from the window as the coachman helped Adelaide climb to the top. The vehicle rocked under the combined weight of the two people now sharing the front driver's seat.

"Let's move to the back seat. We'll balance them out," said Emilie. The couple stood and moved to the rear. The carriage lurched ahead, and Emilie lost her balance, tumbling into Luc's lap.

"Ahh, you're right where I want you," he said, grasping both arms around her waist and pulling her close.

"Luc-" Emilie started to argue, but his cheeky laugh was too much. Luc pulled the velvet curtain closed over the window, and joined his lips with Emilie's in a lingering kiss.

"I'd rather enjoy the scenery _here_ than outside," he whispered when they parted.

...

"This is a _much_ better view!" Adelaide said to the coachman handling the reins alongside her. "Do you know the way to the Seine park?"

"Of course. It's at the end of Douzième Rue. At the river."

"Thank you, Monsieur. What's your name? I'm Mademoiselle Adelaide Fortier." Adelaide said cheerily.

"Marcel Clement," he replied.

"How long have you been a driver?" she asked, hoping to make conversation. Marcel was terribly cute, and Adelaide was in a giddy mood as a result.

"Oh, about ten years. Since I was fifteen."

"Are the horses yours?"

" _Oui_ ," Marcel replied, amused by the woman's onslaught of questions. He normally did not enjoy driving the _Sans-Magies,_ they were often rude and condescending to him. These three were a refreshing exception. Marcel happened to be busy on a magical assignment.

Mademoiselle Agathe, one of the most powerful and most controversial Enchantresses of the age, employed him to tour around Paris without magic after he'd dropped her off in the forests of Alsace. His coach and two horses seemed to take on a mind of their own, stopping for these three people without Marcel's guidance. They were apparently people that Agathe knew. It would be just like her to do something strange and outside the boundaries of law.

' _Please do me a favor, Marcel dear. Fly back to the area of Paris and the Marquis' estate, and let the coach do the work for you. Charge a cheap price. Serve only the people it stops for. And try to befriend them,'_ Agathe had directed him before he took off into the skies above Prince Adam's castle.

The threesome had offered Marcel a very meager amount of _Sans-Magie_ currency. That was no problem for the driver. He simply took the coins in his glove, squeezed them, and they transformed into four Enchanted _Dix D'Argents._ Enough pay for a whole week.

He led his passengers to the Seine park, where Luc and Emilie disembarked, strolling beside the blossoming trees along the river. Adelaide watched wistfully as Luc and Emilie held hands, walking together.

"It's so pretty here, isn't it, Marcel?" she asked.

" _Oui._ Paris in May is quite a sight."

"I wish I'd brought some water. I'm a little thirsty," she said. Marcel immediately reached under the seat of the carriage, and took out a glass bottle of ice cold water.

"Merci!" said Adelaide, gladly drinking. Suddenly, Marcel sensed a buzzing vibration in the pocket of his travel bag. He reached inside to grip his compact Magic Mirror, leaping down from the coach.

"Excuse me," he said to Adelaide, disappearing behind a thicket of leafy trees. He opened his mirror, and Agathe's voice sounded from it.

"Marcel! You have my _Sans-Magie_ friends, including my adopted nephew. Please listen to my directions. It's very urgent."

"That man's your nephew? For _Le Grande Merlin_ 's sake, Agathe, when did you 'adopt' him? He's older than me-"

"That doesn't matter!" she chastised. "Take the three of them far away. _By flight_."

" _What_? It's against the law."

"Don't worry about the law. I can help you with invisibility and memory charms. I want you to fly them as far away from France as possible. A tropical island. For two months."

"Why?"

"Please do not ask questions, Marcel. I'm going to take complete control of your horses and carriage," said Agathe. "I'll fly them across the globe myself."

"No!" Marcel whispered into his Mirror. "Forget it. Agathe, you're crazy!" He spotted Adelaide looking at him that very moment.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked in amusement.

Marcel stood up straight, shoving the Mirror in his trousers pocket. "My new pet squirrel. I named her 'Agathe.' She ran up the tree." He pointed sheepishly at the elm branches above them.

Adelaide laughed. "How often do you come to this park and talk to squirrels?"

"Every day," he replied, grinning. "Do you like animals?"

"I love animals. I used to have a cat when I was a little girl."

Marcel spotted a beetle crawling up the elm tree's trunk at that moment. He flicked his wand behind his back, and it transformed into a golden-haired kitten.

Adelaide gasped. "Look!"

" _Mon Dieu,_ speak of the devil!" He started to climb the tree, after the mewing little creature. "Don't be scared, _petit chat._ I'll save you." In less than five seconds, the tall dark coachman had captured the kitten in his hand. He hopped down to where Adelaide was standing.

"It's yours, Mademoiselle." He deposited the kitten in her arms.

"Thank you! She's so sweet! It's a girl, I think," Adelaide said, checking its hindquarters. "I wonder if she's a stray?"

"Probably," said Marcel nonchalantly. Adelaide cradled the kitten, and the two observed Luc and Emilie holding hands as they strolled through the gardens.

"I'm so happy for my sister and her beau. Did you know they both survived smallpox?"

"No. Where is that? Was it a war battle?"

Adelaide gave Marcel a shocked face. "Smallpox is a _disease_! One of the most dreaded diseases, besides the plague."

"Sorry. I didn't know. I've never heard of 'smallpox' before," Marcel apologized.

"Where _are_ you from?" she asked eagerly. The man's brown skin indicated he must have had roots in some far-off continent.

"Here in Paris, and other parts. My family came from all _kinds_ of places, actually," said Marcel, grinning. "I'm...kind of a wanderer, never staying in one place very long. I have one sister in the Alsace province. She's a servant for a Prince, and I hope to visit her soon."

"A wanderer?" Adelaide smiled, intrigued. "Do you speak other languages? Besides French?"

"English," he said truthfully. "I was a spy in the war." What he really meant was that he was a spy who helped to catch Enchanters who broke the law, and that 'war' had never ended.

Adelaide began to tell Marcel the whole story of Luc and Emilie's illness and miraculous recovery. She noticed that her handsome new friend seemed distracted and flustered after she mentioned the healing. He kept fiddling with an object in his pocket.

…

Meanwhile, Agathe, at home in her little hut in the forest near Prince Adam's castle, was left with her Mirror's communication still open to Marcel's. She had no choice but to be left listening in on their conversation.

She _had_ to find a way to cause Luc to lose his job as Head of Household, or send him far away so he could never reach Prince Adam's castle. If he were to cast his eyes upon Princess Belle, his curse would be broken and his identity as Gaston Legume would return.

Luc had a lady love now, and Agathe did not want Emilie to suffer. She wouldn't have minded if Gaston Legume suffered, but _not_ Luc Avenant. In Agathe's eyes, Luc Avenant was a separate entity now. A good man who'd been through torture. He deserved happiness, a wife, family, and peaceful home. If it meant breaking even more Magical laws, she would use all means to keep Luc- as Luc.

Agathe overheard Marcel Clement's comment about being a spy. Indeed, the young coachman had sent several lawless Enchanters to prison by contacting _Le Ministère_ in the past. She became alarmed. Had she been duped by an innocent-looking carriage driver?

Suddenly, her Mirror went blank. She uttered spellwords at it, anything to cause it to show or contact someone.

" _Show me Marcel Clement!"_ Her Mirror was dead.

" _Show me Aloysius Guérisseur!"_ The Mirror was still dead.

" _Show me Prince Adam!"_ Nothing.

Agathe reached into the pocket of her gown and could feel that warm, red, glowing coat button that indicated Luc Avenant was happy, humble, and kind at heart. She paced up and down the length of her hut, finally going outside into the forest.

A whooshing sound filled Agathe's ears, and after being blinded by three flashes of white light, three forms appeared in front of her. Two men, and a woman.

Agathe recognized the younger man in the middle as her nephew. Her _real_ blood nephew. Alexis Xavier Sauvageon. He was an officer of the law for _Le Ministère._

"Agathe Ophelie Sauvageon, you are under arrest for continued spells cast on numerous _Sans-Magie_ people, including resurrection of the dead! You have broken Exposure Laws Three, Twenty Nine, Thirty, and Fifty Seven, with more to be proven after our agent informs us."

Agathe found herself being secured by ribbons of fabric, winding around her body like mummy's bandages. Alexis Xavier Sauvageon and his two associates surrounded her, laying their hands gently on her shoulders.

"I'm terribly sorry, Aunt Agathe," Alexis whispered.

With a swift whooshing roar and blinding light, she found herself in a holding cell in the Enchanters' prison of Paris, deep under ground. Her wand and Magic Mirror had been confiscated.

...


	20. Journey to Alsace

Chapter 20- Journey to Alsace

…

"The coaches should be here soon," Luc told Marquis Antoine as they sat in the parlor finishing their breakfast and tea. "I decided to grant Adelaide's wish in chartering the driver she made friends with in Paris. The driver knew of someone to help, so we arranged for two carriages. That way, we can give Monsieur Platte a needed break. He's not able to drive a long journey. Backaches are still bothering him," Luc explained, referring to the family's usual hired driver.

"That's considerate of you, Luc," Marquess Marie Juliette said. "I don't mind hiring someone else. as long as both coaches are large and comfortable."

"How many cities will we pass on the way, Papa?" asked Evangeline. "We need to be able to go out for rests often."

Marquis Antoine glanced at the letter which came with his invitation from Prince Adam. "We will pass through Troyes, Épinal, Colmar, and towns along the way. The castle is near the small town of Villeneuve, which is somewhere near Colmar. Beautiful country out there."

"Papa, is Louis certain he's going to be at Prince Adam's party?" asked Evangeline.

"He is planning to be there," said Marquis Antoine, smiling at his lovely engaged daughter with pride. "You will be reunited. While there, we can confirm the wedding details."

The Marquis glanced at Luc good naturedly. "Speaking of which, I have heard talk about you becoming engaged to Emilie. Has it become official?"

Luc gave the Marquis a proud smile as he patted his waistcoat pocket. "All but the ring. I plan to propose while on the journey. It should make the long ride less tedious."

Evangeline stepped to the dining room window where she spotted two large stagecoaches arriving at the gate. "They're here!" she cried out in excitement. "Are Emilie and Adelaide ready yet? And Jean and Clémence?"

"They're outside waiting," Luc said, leaving the dining room and excusing the noble family to go outdoors. The two coaches had been allowed entrance; Jean had went out to unlock the mansion's gate.

Adelaide and Emilie stood with travel bags near Madame Chambon, who was staying behind. Adelaide held her new little golden cat, Lorette, in her arms. When she spotted her new friend Marcel driving the first carriage, she waved to him cheerfully.

"Your 'boyfriend' is here," Emilie teased.

"He's _not_!" Adelaide whispered in mortification, her cheeks rosy. "I'm just...glad he accepted the offer to charter us," She glanced down to address her cat. "Lorette, look. There's the dashing man who saved you from a terrible existence on the streets!" She walked ahead of the group to greet Marcel and show him how much little 'Lorette' had grown.

" _Bonjour,_ Mademoiselle Adelaide!" Marcel greeted, tipping his hat. "How are you enjoying your new pet?"

"She's sweet, thank you!" replied Adelaide. "Are you glad to be going back near your family?"

"You remembered? _Oui,_ I will be glad to see my sister again. And her husband, my brother-in-law of course. He's the _maître d_ ' of the Prince's castle. Such a charming man, and a friend to all."

"What is your sister's name?" Adelaide asked.

"Her name is Jacinta Colombe. Although her husband and fellow servants have always called her 'Plumette.'"

"She must love birds," said Adelaide, laughing.

"You can certainly say that," Marcel replied jovially. When Adelaide walked away to help her sister carry bags, his smile faded to a frown of concern.

It was some comfort to know that justice was finally being done. It still didn't take away the image in his mind of his dear older sister, resembling a dying, beautiful white bird, lying stiff in her beloved's arms. Good, ordinary people, turned into cold lifeless objects until the final pardon at the last moment.

Plumette, a _Sans-Magie_ maid who grew up with an Enchanted mother, father, and little brother Marcel, had finally been able to experience being 'magical' for a season thanks to Agathe. It never came naturally for her. But her years as an Enchanted birdlike feather duster came with a price.

What if that girl, Belle, had _not_ wept with love over the Beast-Prince? It would have resulted in a dead creature and a castle full of extinguished human souls, vanished from their loved ones forever. Some in Magical society believed that no real harm was done, that Agathe shouldn't be held accountable.

But the _risks_ she took? There were no excuses. Marcel Clement and his chief officer both agreed upon that.

Alexis Xavier Sauvageon expressed his feelings about his wayward aunt after he jailed her. _'These are lives of real people she plays with, as if they were her own set of child's dolls. It may not be Darkest Magic, but she is crossing dangerous boundaries. She's causing our world and theirs to blend too often. That is the primary law of Le Ministère. Secrecy and separation!"_

Marcel observed Luc from his driver's seat. The man was walking his employers to their carriage, his stride and bearing like that of a soldier.

'Luc Avenant' was identified by M. Sauvageon's analysis of Agathe's wand and mirror to be her newest pawn. He'd once been an ex-soldier from the Alsace province who'd stormed Prince Adam's castle attempting to kill the cursed creature for some unknown reason. And he didn't just _attempt_ , the investigation proved. He _did_ kill him, moments before Agathe's unique Spell-Breakage Clause went into effect.

It grieved Marcel with a storm of mixed feelings. On one hand, Agathe had set the Breakage Clause and acted to mend the damage before it became permanent. Plumette and the others were alive, well, and happy. But on the other hand, she simply had no right to cast any curse on the Prince or servants, Clause or no Clause.

And there was this for the two men to consider- 'Avenant' and Prince Adam had been truly, medically, dead. Adam was dead for an estimated one minute and forty seconds. The man now being called 'Luc Avenant' lay broken and dead for an astounding _seven and a half minutes._

Marcel watched Luc as he nodded amiably in his direction before helping his young lady friend into his coach and climbing in himself. He looked perfectly normal and healthy, dressed in plain and neat clothing, an air of pleasant simplicity about him. This fellow had no clue he was living a false identity for almost an entire year, his old memories obliterated after being revived from a legal, consequential, natural death!

Violating Exposure Law Three was as indecent as one could be without venturing into Dark territory. _Dangerous and arrogant of her_ , Marcel thought.

He glanced back at Alexis Xavier Sauvageon loading the aristocratic family's bags like a common servant. The Magical officer caught Marcel's eye and gave him a little hand signal, gesturing downward.

Glancing down at the Mirror in his pocket, the spy read Alexis' newest message. _'Keep a close eye on that man named Luc Avenant. He's the main focus of our investigation. When we arrive, we'll observe Prince Adam and those close to him. The evidence for her trial will be gathered in that castle."_

Marcel turned back to his chief officer and nodded discreetly.

...

Luc and Emilie finally had their baggage secured in Marcel's coach and embarked, sharing their ride with Jean, Clémence and Adelaide. They nestled together in the front seat, moving backwards while Adelaide shared the rear seat with Jean and Clémence.

Clémence was making a face of clear discomfort. "Thank you, Luc and Emilie for taking the seat that faces backwards. I hope I can make it through this ride without feeling ill." She kept hugging her midsection as the carriage picked up speed.

"You're not feeling well again?" Jean said, putting his arm around her shoulder. "Please tell me if you can't make the trip, cherie. You can always stay back with Madame Chambon and the others. She'd allow you to take it easy."

"Oh no, _no_! Jean, I don't want to miss seeing the castle! Don't worry, honey. It's just something I had for breakfast not agreeing. Maybe too much tea," Clémence explained.

Adelaide's mouth fell open in excitement. " _Clémence_! Is there any chance that you might-"

Luc knew exactly what Adelaide was implying. He threw his head back in laughter. "Jean!" he exclaimed. "Have you been keeping yourself _busy_?"

"Very busy," said Jean in a matter of fact tone. "You've seen me, Luc. I've been repairing the stables, drawing out plans for a gazebo building for the Marquess. I showed her the first draft of my blueprints yesterday and she thinks-"

Jean's voice was drowned out by Luc and Adelaide's laughter. Clémence caught their assumptions before her husband; she blushed furiously.

Emilie gave Luc a concerned look. "You don't know for certain," she reasoned. "She could be ill."

"Wishful thinking. I'm sorry I brought it up," Adelaide apologized. "Clémence, I hope you feel better. I have some sweet biscuits in my bag, it might settle your stomach."

"Thank you. I'll be fine," said Clémence. "And...if it ends up being what you think, you'll all be the first to know."

Jean finally caught his friends' assumptions a bit late. He laughed self-consciously, hugging his wife close. "Now I'm hopeful," he admitted.

"It takes months to be sure, but I don't want to get our hopes up, honey. I've dreamed of a child of my own for so long," Clémence said in honesty.

"So have I," said Adelaide in a wistful tone. "I'd like to have them eventually. But as a ladies' maid, I don't know how it can be done. How can you work so hard and raise your little children at the same time? Madame Chambon did it with her boys. But now her hair is going grey and she's only twenty years older than me. When I have a little one, all I want to do is to recline by the fire in my rocking chair and sing songs to him or her all day long."

Luc put his hand in his coat pocket, fiddling with the little silver ring. He was trying to wait for just the right moment, but Adelaide's comments made him reconsider. He and Emilie would be perfectly fine as man and wife while he was Head of Household and she was a maid, but what about when a child came along?

Luc wanted to have his own home by then. He wanted Emilie to be free from cooking, sewing and scrubbing for others. He wanted her to be home in a place he'd built himself, sitting by the hearth, sewing tiny dresses and buntings for the little ones playing on the floor. With a few dogs, of course. And a hearty dinner cooking on the fire. His fresh-killed wild game, perhaps. With vegetables from their own garden- a harvest of carrots, beans, and potatoes for his growing family…

"Luc?" Emilie said, nudging his shoulder. "You're staring off into space. Are you all right?"

Luc leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Forgive me. I was daydreaming. About _us_."

Emilie's eyes lit with joy. "Oh...that's good to know." She leaned toward his ear and lowered her voice to a whisper. "When we're alone, you can share. If you don't mind." She punctuated her words with a sweet kiss to his cheek.

Luc straightened his posture in a decisive manner, taking a deep, expectant breath that made all eyes fall on him. "How about I share something with _everyone_?" he announced.

"What is it?" Adelaide asked, though she could already guess.

He pulled the ring out of his pocket and grasped Emilie's right hand, the hand nearest his side. Emilie was beaming; her cheeks were on fire.

"Emilie. I...I have this ring for you. It's a symbol of my devotion to you. But it's up to _you_ what you want it to be. If you only want to wear it as a gift, you can just, you know, wear it on either hand. Left or right. I won't mind." He chuckled nervously as he watched her expression. Her tear-bright eyes urged him on.

"But- if you pledge to be my wife within the next year, or two years...or three, I have the patience, you know...I'd be beyond happy if you wear it on your left."

He laid the ring on his palm for her to take. Emilie picked the little silver band up, clasped it in her right palm, and placed it on her left ring finger.

"I _will_ pledge to be your wife, Luc. And I don't want to wait _three years_ ," she added with a laugh. "Maybe as soon as we return from this trip!"

The entire carriage burst into happy cheers as Luc and Emilie embraced on the bench seat of their coach, holding each other unabashedly. Luc kissed Emilie on each cheek, then firmly on her lips.

…

The next two days went by slowly and without incident. The weather was fair and clear, yet the carriages did not seem to overheat and the horses rarely needed to stop. Adelaide's cat played by their feet when it wasn't in her lap. She fed it pieces of dried meat, and it thankfully stayed quiet.

They stopped for a while in the city of Troyes and ate at a cafe there. Evangeline spent time in the fabric shop looking at lace and satin for wedding dresses. She came out of a milliner's wearing a new feathered bonnet.

The coaches rolled into a second sunset and nighttime on the journey. They went through the town of Épinal early the next day and stopped there briefly. Clémence Paquet's stomachaches came and went; the young wife felt nauseated in the mornings but better later in the day. Adelaide was exhausted and irritable because she hadn't been able to sleep well away from home. She finally nodded off on the carriage floor with Lorette the kitten beside her. Luc, Emilie and the Paquets dozed against each other through the night. The terrain became rough, with winding, curving roads around scenic mountains. The horses were enchanted to have endless energy, and at one point while the passengers were asleep, they discreetly took the vehicles up in a gentle flight over the roughest mountain passes.

When morning came, they had reached the easternmost lands of France and entered the picturesque town of Colmar. The drivers stopped the coaches. Evangeline made a rush to a nearby water pump to splash cold water on her face and hair. Adelaide joined her, and the two women shared grievances over the loss of toiletries and makeup.

"This travel is dreadful, Addie," said Evangeline. "Why must the Prince's castle be so far away? I'm running out of soap and my hair feels itchy. Can you use my comb and braid it into plaits for me?"

"Of course, Your Ladyship. I'd be glad to, in your carriage seat. If only there were a salon nearby-"

"But wait, there is!" Evangeline spotted a barber's pole on a quaint shop painted in blue and sunny yellow. Inside the front window, a man trimmed another man's mustache.

"That's for men, Your Ladyship," said Adelaide. "Luc!" she called out. "You said you felt like you needed a shave? You're in luck!"

She pointed the barbershop out to the men, not only Luc and Jean, but the coachmen Alexis and Marcel. The men checked their pockets for money to spare, and lined up at the door using the Marquis' rank and their roles as his retinue for the privilege of prompt service.

The Marquis and the Marquess went to check in to the town's hotel to take breakfast and a nap for the day. The other women sat combing and braiding their hair on the carriage seats, planning to come out only when they looked neat and tidy. Emilie spotted a group of young girls walking down the street in a line, carrying small pails. "They're all off to do their laundry and chores, I guess," she commented.

"No, they are lining up for school. Look!" said Evangeline. They watched as the girls were guided into a building by two women, one of them ringing a little bell. Above the door of the building a sign read _'École de Colmar pour les filles.'_

"Louis told me that Princess Belle has been establishing girls' schools all over this area," said Evangeline. "He thinks it's a waste of time and money, but I disagree! I have an education because Papa hired tutors, but not everyone can have the privilege. And I always hated lessons."

"We were taught to read and do arithmetic by our father. We're glad he did," said Emilie. "He needed us to help him in the store."

"Emilie, you're so much better at reading and arithmetic than I am. You have the brains of the family," said Adelaide. "And you can draw such amazing pictures."

"Adelaide, you have talents," argued Emilie. "Look how well you take care of your cat. You have a very pretty singing voice. And you helped nurse me when I was sick. And cheer me up when I was sad. Don't put yourself down."

"You both have gifts...at least," said Evangeline, her eyes growing sad. "I sometimes don't even know who I am. I'm just...the Marquis' daughter, soon to be a Princess. Clothes and expensive fashion is all I've ever thought about. I'm sorry for being such a demanding, spoiled brat to you," she admitted.

Emilie smiled at Evangeline, taking in her appearance and expression with kind forgiveness. Lady Evangeline, her blonde hair done tightly in plaits, _sans_ makeup and wearing her plain grey travel dress, looked more like one of them today. Just a young woman, with thoughts and feelings like their own.

"It's all right. Anyone can change," said Emilie cheerfully.

"Let's go out and walk for a while," said Evangeline. "Maybe there's a bakery. Addie, I _know_ that's what you're thinking about."

"And you're right," Adelaide laughed.

…

Luc sat in the barber's chair, having his facial stubble trimmed and his long hair cut about an inch or two and restyled. After he was shaved clean and his hair was pulled back, the barber stared at him in the mirror with a wide-eyed expression.

"What's wrong, Monsieur?" Luc asked. Did the barber just nick his ear or something? He felt no sting.

" _Captain_?" the barber asked in a gobsmacked tone.

Marcel, sitting nearby, took notice of the interaction. He pulled out a paper and quill, prepared to write down what he heard.

"What?" said Luc. "Forgive me, I'm not the 'captain' of anything. Head of Household of course, but I'd never ask my staff to call me-"

" _Pierre_!" the barber shouted to the man reading a newspaper nearby. "Remember Captain Legume from the war days?"

" _Mon Dieu_! Captain Legume is back in town! The wild killing machine of the Fourth Regiment! How's your quiet life in Villeneuve?" the man asked.

At first, Luc was about to argue that he was certainly not this Captain Legume person that they went on about. But the name rang a bell. Wasn't that the name the Army recruiter called him when he tried to enlist at the Paris office last year? He decided to give in to his sense of humor and play along.

"Villeneuve? A charming town as always. I'm doing well. It's good to see you again, Pierre, and-"

"Étienne," said the barber. "Don't you remember me, Captain? 'Dog-Face' Étienne Carron?"

"Ah, _yes_! Dog-Face!" Luc exclaimed. The man did have a face resembling a bulldog. "How have you been? I like your work, thank you. My hair feels much better."

"I cannot believe my ears," the barber Carron said. "You actually said something _nice_ about me. Who made you so civilized?"

Luc shrugged. "A woman. The lady who stole my heart."

"Finally found the one?" the patron named Pierre asked. "I thought you'd _never_ stop going through all the widows."

"Never met a widow I didn't like," Luc said, grinning. "As long as she was beautiful, of course."

The two Colmar men broke into nervous chuckles. "Now _that_ sounds like our Captain! How's your friend by the way? That short fellow? Does he still love you?"

" _All_ of my friends love me," Luc said with the same smug air, enjoying this little game of pretending to be someone else. The barber and his buddy seemed glad and a bit uneasy all at once. Jean listened and looked on in amusement. Marcel, close to Luc's chair, sat quietly writing in a little notepad.

M. Carron shook his head while washing the shaving cream and bits of black hair out of the razor. "The ego of Captain Gaston Legume knows no bounds."

Luc narrowed his eyes in the mirror at the barber. "Tell me more about what we did back in the war days," he said, keeping up his air of self-pride. It didn't sit too well with him now; it reminded him of his bad attitudes in the past. The curious part of him wanted to know more about this 'Captain' he was being mistaken for again. The first name 'Gaston' also rang a bell. But he couldn't quite place where he'd heard it before.

"All most of us wanted was to _survive_ and go home. But _you_ -" the barber said with a look of slight awe mixed with horror- "you were a one-man execution squad with your rifle and bayonet. Damn, those Portuguese troops were one sorry pile of meat...not to be too graphic."

"I don't want to be reminded, Dog," said Pierre. "Dear Lord, the blood...all the _blood_ -"

"Blood-bath Legume, that was _me_!" Luc ad-libbed, fixing an evil grin on his face. He glanced into the mirror and tried to look proud and evil all at once. It was quite fun. He was glad Emilie wasn't here. If she saw this, she'd have him a word or two.

"Oh, _ho_!" laughed Pierre. "The men had worse names for you than that! Nothing I'd want to repeat."

"Really? And did they dare to speak them in my presence?"

" _Never_!" said Pierre. "None of us wanted to be placed on the front lines."

Luc thought back to those cryptic dreams he used to have about being a soldier. He brought a vision up from one of them. "I always had my favorite men I protected, though. I took care of anyone who needed aid, did I not?"

Pierre shrugged. "Sometimes. But not often. I think you bandaged up your fool friend a few times. Is he still in Villeneuve?"

Luc paused for a moment and went with the most probable answer. "Oui, he's still there. Works in...a blacksmith shop. He has a wife and two children," he added, trying to fabricate more detail.

The man named Pierre spluttered with laughter. "Ha, _ha_! Dog, pay it up! Twenty livres!"

"What?" M. Carron challenged. "There is no _way_! I made a bet on that long ago and swore I'd win! _Him_? Married to a woman? Captain, are you sure we're talking about the same fellow? Your aide and medic, the chubby kid? I swear that boy had rainbows flying out of his-"

"No, not him!" Luc corrected. "I meant the...um, what was his name? My _other_ friend. Kind of stocky-"

"Tom?" the barber guessed.

"Yes! Tom. That's who I meant," Luc declared.

"Of course!" exclaimed M. Carron in triumph. "Pierre, I didn't lose your bet, you dimwit. We see him in Colmar sometimes. Tom the blacksmith. He has a wife and sons."

"Wait a minute," said Pierre, with a horrified look Luc saw reflected in the mirror. "Last year, Tom said...you were dead."

"I'm not dead," Luc laughed good-naturedly.

Pierre rubbed his head, trying to remember. "He's never seemed like one to lie about things like that. I...forgot about that conversation. But yes, he was talking about you, Captain. He said you were dead. There was a memorial service, but no burial."

"Maybe I'm not the Captain after all," Luc said smugly, giving another light chuckle. He rose up from the barber chair. "Thanks for the haircut and shave, Dog-Face. Nice meeting you, Pierre. But the joke's on you. I'm not your Captain. I'm just a servant from out east, I grew up in Paris. The name's Luc. Have a good day, gentlemen."

The two men of Colmar were embarrassed as the man, with his quiet friend Jean, left the shop. Dog-Face Carron called up Marcel to get his hair trimmed. Marcel gladly gave the man his coins and sat quietly in the chair as M. Carron trimmed his jet-black hair shorter, continuing the discussion of Luc.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me Legume died, Pierre?"

"I forgot. I try not to think about the war, or the other people from it. You keep wanting to bring it up. And Tom didn't seem that keen to talk about him either."

"Come to think of it, that _couldn't_ have been Captain Legume. Just someone else who's the spitting image. He's too genuinely polite, not fake-polite." said M. Carron.

Pierre nodded. "And no scary trigger temper. Nothing cruel about him."

"And he didn't mention how good looking he was, even once. Had me fooled for a few minutes, though," the barber said. He then spoke to Marcel, almost forgetting the man existed. "Need a shave, Monsieur?"

"Yes, thank you," Marcel said, hoping to get spruced up for a visit to the great castle, his sister Plumette, and brother in law Lumiere. He'd gathered some vital information already. Avenant's real name. And a _lot_ about his old character. Agathe sure had a gift for making nasty people good, he had to admit.

...

Leaving the shop, Luc and Jean shared a good laugh together. "That was fun," Luc said with a gesture to the shop behind them. "I wonder who their Captain was. Sounded like quite a barbarian. 'A one-man execution squad.' And he looked just like me. How's that for a story to tell the Marquis?"

"He'll be amused," said Jean.

The group boarded their carriages a little later and headed out. Villeneuve and the Prince's castle were said to be about four hours away.

...


	21. Odd Familiarity

Chapter 21- Odd Familiarity

…

"So what time does this party for the Prince start?" Jean asked Luc rather impertinently. Jean was feeling the effects of sleep deprivation after nights of trying to keep Clémence comfortable in her carriage seat. She was still feeling under the weather. Jean hoped to find an inn at the next town to get her to a bed.

Luc shrugged."I don't know. All I know is that his party's the twenty-seventh of June, and well...that's _today,_ " he admitted. "We left home four days ago."

"Are we late?" Emilie asked in concern. "I hope it isn't considered rude to arrive late. It could be disrespectful of Prince Adam and his wife."

"If the Prince here is offended, _cherie_ , he'll only be cross at His Honor and Their Ladyships," said Luc breezily. "We're only his retinue. We had nothing to do with the time we left the estate. His Honor directed me to tell these men to pick us up at nine in the morning." Luc gestured upward with his thumb. "Which they did. No worries for me." Luc smiled serenely at his fiancee. "When will you be changing into your best dress? It's yellow and white, correct?"

"Yes. I hope to change when we settle for a bit at the nearby village," said Emilie, feeling a bubble of excitement mixed with nervousness. Later this day she would be entering a grand, royal ball wearing her best- though inexpensive- new dress. Madame Chambon helped her sew it the week before, choosing the colors with the thought of a future wedding gown in mind.

She looked across to her married friend, who was looking pale and tired around the eyes. "Clémence, are you going to rent a room at an inn, if you feel sick?" Emilie asked her.

"I feel a little better-" Clémence began, but Jean interrupted her with a decisive arm around her shoulders.

"Yes, we are," he insisted. "You're looking peaked, _cherie_. I don't care about spending more money. In fact, we'll rent two or three rooms. I don't know what Adelaide wants to do, though. She's been riding up front with our coachman for the last three hours, so I haven't been able to ask her."

"Oh, let her," said Emilie with a gentle smile. "Addie feels like the odd spinster out with the four of us. She's happier talking to him. I feel a little bad, though, because I'm sure her crush is unrequited. Both of the coachmen are nice gentlemen, but they're focused on their jobs and she shouldn't expect any flirtations."

"It would be vulgar of them to do so anyway," said Jean.

"True," said Luc. "I used to drive cab carriages in Paris. Talking to the lady passengers was something that just wasn't _done_. Of course, I disobeyed that rule myself a few times," he added with a smirk.

" _Luc_ ," said Emilie, a quiet reminder that she didn't like hearing about his errant past.

He grasped her hand and held it in reassurance, stroking the ring on her finger. "In fact, what Marcel's doing by being chummy with Addie could be a factor in our being late," he opined. "We wasted _ten_ _minutes_ out of Colmar, with him helping her catch that cat," he added in a slight tone of irritation.

"Now that we're running late, they'll be feeling bad. Luc, don't reprimand them. It isn't their fault," said Emilie.

"I won't," he assured her. "They did their jobs well, they safely got us through the mountain passes. Say-" Luc pulled the black velvet curtain on the window- "we're entering a village now."

"This must be Villeneuve," said Clémence. "Honey, do you think Marcel and Alexis will stop here?"

"I sure hope so," said Jean. "Looks like a nice town, a lot of busy people. I'm craving some fresh fruit."

Luc glanced out of the window in curiosity. They were passing along a cobblestone street, filled with quaint buildings and shops similar to those in Colmar, but smaller. People went about their provincial lives, buying things at markets. For some reason, the ' _Argent'_ sign of the silversmith's shop looked familiar to him. He must have seen the same sign type in Paris somewhere.

The coach rounded a corner. Luc experienced another bizarre feeling of _déjà_ _vu,_ more intense now than ever. He _knew_ what the next building was going to look like. When it appeared, exactly as he'd imagined a second later, he sucked in a breath of air.

" _What in the_ -"

"What's wrong, honey?" Emilie asked. Luc's heart warmed at her use of 'honey.'

"Why is this town so _familiar_?" He was to the point of being afraid his bout of insanity was back. That building was the tavern and inn, for sure. The tall clock tower? He'd seen it before.

He somehow knew that if one went up the hillside past the stone arch, one would find a large, rustic house there. And it would be a white house, with two stories and an attic, trimmed with dark accent boards and several roof gables. Luc had sat on top of the roof of that house before. He'd had seen the same clock tower from that roof. He'd _dreamed_ of it.

"Emilie, I think I'm feeling 'crazy' again," he whispered to her with unease. Blinking his eyes, he tried to concentrate on the moment, on reality, on _her_. He closed the curtain shut and gazed at her sweet face.

"You'll be fine, Luc. You're probably sleep deprived," said Emilie.

"Isn't he _stopping_ here?" Jean asked, his usual patience of a saint slipping. "Clémence, how are you feeling?"

"Better," she insisted, stroking the downy fur of Adelaide's cat. Adelaide had plopped the cat in Clémence's lap earlier, for her to care for while she rode in the driver's seat beside Marcel to 'take in the scenery.'

They passed out of the town almost as quickly as they'd rolled in. Buildings and people gave way to a lush green hillside, which then gave way to a narrow road in a shady forest. The trail was bumpy and made of dried mud marked with the wheels of a smaller carriage, likely Prince Adam's personal cabriolet.

Some fifteen minutes later, the vehicle lurched and stopped. Luc and Emilie looked out their windows only to see endless thickets of evergreen trees.

"What happened? Is a wheel stuck?" Jean asked.

"Feels like it. Jean, let's go out and see what we can do to help," Luc said decisively. He threw open the carriage door and leaped out. "Is there a problem? May I be of assistance?"

Marcel Clement sighed. "I believe we're stuck in the mud. No worries, Monsieur. I can help loosen it. I'll look through my tool set."

While Marcel rummaged in a bag, and Adelaide sat trying to hide her disappointment, Luc spotted the carriage's front wheel. It was sunk nearly halfway deep in thick, mud-clay soil. He grasped hold of it and struggled to loosen it.

"It must've...rained here lately…" he grunted as Jean, then Marcel, joined him to tug on the wheel. Adelaide also hopped down to join the three men, trying to tug the wheel loose. It didn't budge.

"What are we going to do now? It will be evening soon," Jean fretted. "And dark in a few hours."

"Marcel, do you have a shovel? We can dig the wheel out," suggested Adelaide.

"I believe I do," said the driver. "Please, everyone. Let's not panic. There isn't a _thing_ to worry about."

"Except for wild animals, darkness, and possible _starvation_!" Luc said irritably. "Monsieur, _why_ didn't you stop for a rest in the village?" He leaned toward the man's ear to whisper. "One of the ladies here may be in a delicate condition!"

"I apologize, Monsieur." Marcel tried placate Luc Avenant, whose build and bearing was that of a man he didn't care to cross. "I wanted to save time, since I knew we were running late. I'm afraid I didn't anticipate the weather."

They heard the coach bearing the noble family approach along the same path. When it rounded a curve, Alexis Sauvageon halted his team of four horses. "Is there a problem?"

"We're stuck in the mud!" Luc yelled out. "Be careful!"

Marcel went to rummage in the bag near his driver's seat again, and by some miracle produced a long-handled shovel. Luc immediately snatched the tool from his hand.

"Let _me_ take care of this," he growled, hoisting the shovel and attacking the muddy earth around the wheel with thrusting blows. He looked as if he were stabbing someone with a bayonet, his face ruddy with exertion. The women and Jean stood there, watching him in slight amusement.

"You can do it, Luc," Jean encouraged. "As I've always said, I've never met a stronger man! Do you need help?"

" _No_!"

While the _Sans-Magies_ were distracted, Marcel rushed up to Alexis at his halted coach. "I didn't want to do anything in plain sight of them," he told his chief officer in a lowered tone.

"Only as a last resort," the other sorcerer directed. "Use the Lightening Charm if the ground is loosened. They shouldn't notice. Just make sure they don't!" he added as a stern command.

"I hope _you_ don't get stuck. It won't look very good for your passengers to be late for this great, royal _fête_."

"You know me," said Sauvageon with a self-confident laugh. "I have my tricks."

" _Bonne chance!"_ said Marcel. The other coach advanced past the first, continuing along the uphill terrain through the forest. Its wheels were levitated about an inch above ground, unnoticed by the others.

Emilie saw Evangeline waving at them from the window, an expression of concern on her face. She waved back, letting her know they would be all right, that they were taking care of the problem.

"I'm glad they made it past the rough spot," said Jean as he watched Luc continue to tear into the soil with his shovel. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to help?"

"I'm almost finished!" Luc growled. The thick mud around the wheel had been scraped away; the bottom now mostly unearthed.

"While we're stopped," Emilie suggested to the other two women, "we could powder our noses and change into our good dresses."

"In the middle of the woods?" Adelaide laughed. "That sounds crazy. But fun. I'll fetch all my things and we can redo our hair, too." She scooped Lorette the cat from Clémence's arms and put her in the carriage. "Now you _stay_ here like a good girl!"

The three women wandered through the thick, lush forest; the smell of evergreen in the air. It didn't seem dangerous. It felt almost magical, as if from a fairy tale. A few squirrels scampered up the trees. Filtered sunlight dappled the shrubs and grasses.

"I feel scandalous," said Emilie, taking off her grey travel dress, then donning a corset and new chemise as quickly as she could. Adelaide was lacing her corset tight, gasping air as she tied up the cords. " _Adieu_ , breathing," she quipped, earning a giggle from the other two.

Emilie took her lovely white-and-yellow gown from the garment bag, along with its matching white-eyelet petticoat. She checked the garments for dirt or grass, shook them out, and carefully put them on. The dress felt light and airy as a cloud. It was made of a white cotton fabric with thin yellow stripes, a ruffled flounce along the bottom, and a yellow ruffle along the neckline.

"Emilie, it's _gorgeous_! You're going to look as pretty as the Princess!" Adelaide exclaimed.

"Thank you," Emilie said, blushing. "I honestly can't agree. She's said to be famous for her beauty."

Clémence put her palm on her waist and frowned. "I can't wear a corset today. My middle feels too tender. I hope the dress still fits."

"You should see a doctor," said Emilie in concern. "I hope you can find out if you're in a 'delicate condition' before you get your hopes up."

"What's it like?" Adelaide blurted out, shaking out her new dress and preparing to drape it over herself.

"What do you mean?" asked Clémence. "You're all putting the cart before the horse. I'm not certain yet."

"Not that. _You_ know-" Adelaide glanced over in the direction of the coach- and the men. " _It!"_

"Oh, _dear_ sister, for heaven's sake," Emilie breathed in exasperation. Clémence's mouth gaped. Addie wasn't known for discretion sometimes, tending to say whatever she felt.

"Sweetie, that's _personal_!" the sole married girl replied in a stage whisper. She looked over to where the men were. "It's nothing bad or painful," she admitted. " _Nice,_ really. Jean is...a very loving, affectionate man. He makes me feel like...I'm the most beautiful woman in the world, even though I know I'm not." Her cheeks flushed. "I can't believe I _said_ that!"

The women laughed together, each adjusting their _robe de anglaise_ -style dresses, drawing their arms through the belled sleeves.

"I wish Evangeline were with us right now," said Adelaide. "She'd be keeling over in a faint at the idea of us changing in the forest. Or maybe not, who knows!"

"Addie, your dress is _beautiful_!" Clémence remarked with admiration. Adelaide's dress was rose-pink with a tiny red floral print, split down the front with an attached ivory petticoat visible. Her figure still wasn't small or dainty, but she managed the proper hourglass thanks to her corset-lacing skills. The colors brought out her natural rosy complexion.

"Thank you!" Adelaide said graciously. "I _hope_ I look okay. I don't mean to be a downer, but both of you have someone...and I'm still looking. I don't mind being single, but it would be nice someday to-" She was cut off by her sister.

"How is it going with Marcel?" Emilie teased again in an uncharacteristically direct manner. Luc was rubbing off on her, it seemed.

Addie cupped her warm cheeks with her palms, shutting her eyes for a moment. She needed to get her crazy, mixed emotions under control.

"We're getting along, but...I'm afraid we might end up just friends. He's so polite and sweet, while I've been acting like a fool. Why do I _always_ ruin my chances with men? I tried to budge the wheel with them, unladylike as usual. And during the ride I babbled on about every silly thing, and he listened. But he didn't want to talk much about his life, other than he wants to see his sister again. I think he's just putting up with me because it's his job." She sighed sadly.

"Oh, Addie, just relax," Emilie said with cheer. "He's just a coachman. Luc was a driver once, too. They aren't _supposed_ to become close with passengers."

"If he ends up just a friend, there will be _dozens_ of other men you will meet tonight, and tomorrow!" Clémence assured. She secured the frog-clasps of her deep blue _robe de anglaise,_ accented with a white petticoat sprigged with blue flowers. The dress accentuated Clémence's tiny waist and brought out her blue eyes. The Fortier sisters guessed that Jean would be very pleased at the sight of his pretty wife tonight.

"Maybe the magic of the royal ball will fall on you and Jean tonight, and bring you lucky baby dust," said Adelaide fondly.

"Oh, Addie! There's no such thing as 'baby dust' or magic," Emilie replied. The three found their combs and hair accessories in their bags, and began fixing each other's hair into fresh updos. Adelaide decided she preferred hers down. She discovered rainwater drops on the tree leaves and sprinkled them over her hair to revive her natural curls.

Emilie had the dreamy thought that they were just like a trio of forest fairies from a storybook. Her dress felt so soft, light and pretty; she couldn't wait for Luc to see her once they came out.

She just hoped he wasn't angry or cross. _And_ that they could get to the ball in the first place. What Luc had said about 'wild animals and starvation' made her nervous.

To her relief, they learned that the coach's wheel was finally freed from the mud. Not only that, but the three men had found the time to change into their best suits. Luc was wearing dark charcoal grey, with silver-colored buttons on his overcoat and a dapper black bow tie.

"Emilie-" His eyes widened as he beheld her.

"Luc, you look wonderful!" she exclaimed, rushing to her beloved, being wrapped in his strong arms for a warm kiss.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered to her for the hundredth time.

"Yes, you do! I love you, you big, crazy fool!" she laughed. "How did you finally get the wheel out?"

"It was odd, Emilie. I started to lift the wheel after I dug it out. It was heavy, but after I lifted for a few more moments, the entire coach felt light as a feather! I know I'm strong, but I'm not _that_ strong, am I?"

" _Yes! You are_ ," both Jean and Marcel said in unison. The women had the feeling that this debate had been going on for some time while they were in the forest.

Marcel was dressed the fanciest of the three, in a light beige suit with a white bow tie. He looked so cute and dashing to Adelaide, it almost pained her soul to look at him. She couldn't stop, however, and he returned her shy smile.

"Mademoiselle, are you ready to join me for a view of the greatest castle in the land?"

"Oui, I'm ready," Addie replied as he helped her up to the top seat. Jean and Clémence embraced and kissed. Jean was wearing a deep blue suit; the couple had planned to wear matching colors. Once they were aboard, the coach continued up the forested road.

Only twenty minutes later, the top spire of the castle appeared against the pinkening hue of the summer-night sky. The sun was about to set as they went through the gate and beheld the entire castle in its splendour.

"It's so grand!" Emilie exclaimed. "I imagine a hundred or more people must live here."

"The coachman told me this Prince and Princess have about seventy or eighty servants with them," said Jean. "I wonder if they have any job openings?"

Luc felt uneasy once again. Had he seen this place before as well? In a dream?

…

After parking the horses with the many others and walking up a flight of stone steps, the six latecomers were met by a royal guard at the door.

"Invitation, _si vous plait_?" the man asked.

"I have it, Monsieur," Luc said, handing out his rolled-up paper. "We were accompanying His Honor the Marquis de Brumagne and his family. We were late due to carriage trouble."

"You must have traveled the _old_ forest path," the guard said kindly. "Most of our guests drove here along the brand _new_ road from the other end of Villeneuve. It was built very quickly. Almost miraculously, I'd add. Enjoy the celebrations, it is almost nine o' clock. People will be mingling until midnight or after. Dinner is over, unfortunately, but desserts are plentiful. His Highness has already received his gifts, but there will be a box on the corner table if you have one for him."

The guard opened the great double doors. Inside, harpsichord and violin music played merrily. Luc, Emilie, and the rest walked on tentative feet, taking it all in. Golden cherubs, curving staircases, and ostentatious Rococo furnishings surrounded them. Candles lined the foyer and led them to a grand ballroom.

People were relaxed and casual, eating, drinking, milling around. Emilie walked beside Luc, her arm in his. She felt like royalty, it was truly like a dream. As they passed the other guests, she tried to meet their eyes with friendly smiles. She noticed that people weren't returning them.

People were scowling at her with coldness. Judgment.

Emilie's heart sank. Were the Prince and his court _this_ offended by them being late? Were they being snubbed just for wandering in at nine in the evening, unforgiving of the carriage and road circumstances?

With each passing moment, more and more eyes fell upon Luc and Emilie. Voices hushed as the musicians kept playing.

Luc, too, was confused at the condemning stares and whispers. Well-dressed partygoers backed away from him as if he were a smelly old beggar with leprosy. He heard a few of the whispers in the crowd.

" _Could it be him?"_

" _It can't be! He's dead!"_

" _Ask Monsieur Lefou, he will know for sure!"_

"I beg your pardon, but-" Luc began to explain in a soft and hoarse voice. He caught sight of the regal-looking young couple approaching him with caution, horrified looks on their faces. The man resembled Prince Louis, he thought for a split second.

His eyes met those of the party's royal hostess. She was a beautiful brunette, dressed in a pale yellow gown made of sweeping organza. Her eyes were a lovely brown. _The dream girl._

In an instant, Luc's brain was shot with an onslaught of memories. Visions. Knowledge. Emotions. All rushing into his consciousness so quickly that he stumbled and fell to his knees on the shiny ballroom floor. His eyes stung, his head pounded. He could barely breathe.

His greatest emotion was fear. Fear, mixed in with humiliation and sorrowful, regretful guilt.

" _Belle?_ " Gaston choked out, loud enough for those nearby to hear him.

 _Gaston_ , for that was who he was. His alter ego was still within him, but his true self was back.

...


	22. I'm Not the Man I Was

Chapter 22- I'm Not the Man I Was

...

 _Escape._ That was his first coherent thought based in his current reality. He needed to get out, get away from this place!

The lovely Princess, her husband at her side, looked upon him with horror. The Prince stepped closer to the kneeling form of Gaston, stooping lower to examine his face with an expression of bewilderment.

"This is impossible! You're...you were _dead,"_ Adam breathed. He stepped back, attempting to put an arm around Belle. "He has no weapon on him," he said to her quietly.

Belle moved away from Adam, determined to handle this on her own. She drew closer to the man she had most despised, her eyes aflame with judgment and righteous anger. She lowered her voice, trying to maintain royal decorum in this ballroom full of Adam's relatives and dignitaries.

"You will _not_ get away with this!" she cried as fiercely as she could. "Whatever vile, disgusting scheme you're planning, Gaston, you _won't_ win. You will face consequences!"

He blinked his eyes, feeling as if this were merely one of his old nightmares. If the consequence was death, and he could no longer have Emilie, or the life he'd been living- _bring_ _it_ _on_.

He decided to remain quiet in his agony while she went back to her husband. She could be approving of a death sentence for all Gaston knew, with all the vitriol she'd shown toward him. It was true that he deserved her wrath back then. He looked to the Prince, whose confusion was turning to indignant anger.

He looked to find Emilie, who stood nearby in a state of shock. She still existed. She wasn't merely a figment of his imagination. In fact, all of the friends of 'Luc' were still present, looking at him with the same disbelief. Soon, they would be joining the rest of the entire ballroom in harsh judgment of him. He was an animal trapped in a snare.

He knelt, frozen, on his knees on that ballroom floor as thoughts swirled about his mind at rapid speed. At least two hundred people stared and gawked at him like a circus freak. Some were confused. They had no idea who Gaston Legume was, no idea why this decent-looking man was causing a spectacle. Gaston hoped the Marquis Antoine would vouch for him. But over half of the crowd- the castle servants and many familiar Villeneuve faces- were horrified.

There was a commotion at the farthest end of the ballroom. Someone had fainted. A few people rushed to pick the ailing person up and take him out.

 _But I have changed!_ Gaston wanted to shout those words out to the heavens. He was _not_ the man he was! Why did he come here? Was this a cruel trick of fate, planned all along by the enchantress?

He only wished for the life he'd just been living. _Emilie._ His precious love, his betrothed. His new friends- Jean Paquet, the kindly Marquis Antoine, his wife the Marquess and daughter Evangeline. Adelaide, his lovable future sister-in-law. Even the quirky servant Aloysius with his mystery medicines, which Gaston now suspected was part of the sorcery.

He wondered if he'd lost all hope with Emilie. If she still believed in him, he could still keep her heart. He had done many good, truly heroic things in her presence. She couldn't believe _them_!

Recalling all the admirable things he had achieved as Luc, Gaston was rather impressed with himself. Pulling himself out of rat-infested poverty by his bootstraps through hard work. Surviving through a bout of deadly smallpox. Defending his dear women friends against lewd predators. Impressing the Marquis enough to become his Head of Household. Finding true, unselfish love. The only thing that made him weak was his insanity-

 _Agathe!_ His 'insanity' was her doing. The evil witch!

She'd meant to punish him for the vile man he had been, and punish him she did. She'd given him a new life, a chance to be a good and humble man, with Gaston's own consent and agreement.

Yet once he was able to succeed, able to trust his fake 'aunt' and the people he had come to know, able to experience true and honest love with a woman- the cruel witch had orchestrated fate and circumstances to lead him back here.

To face Belle, to face Prince Adam, and to have it all taken away.

Adam scanned the crowd and held his arm up, preparing to order his servants and guards to capture Gaston. A scuffle of steps made squeaking noises along the marble floor as a group of men advanced upon the unwelcome guest.

Gaston had to make a choice. Accept his punishment, or cling to his falsely created life in denial.

He chose denial.

He struggled to stand up on shaky knees. " _I'm not the man you think I am!"_ he cried out to Adam, Belle, and everyone in the crowd, his hands outstretched.

"You only regret being _caught_!" Belle cried out.

"Gentlemen, _please_ capture this man and take him to the dungeon!" Adam declared.

Scanning the people nearby for Emilie, Gaston spotted her again a few yards away, still in her white and yellow dress, looking confused and hurt. He rushed to her and grasped her hand. He could still touch her, she was still real.

"We _have_ to get out of here!" Gaston tugged Emilie by the hand toward the door to the foyer. "Hurry. _Run!_ "

"Luc, what is going _on_? Do you know the Prince?"

"I said _run_!" Gaston admonished. "We need to _leave_!"

Emilie's steps reluctantly picked up with his as he tore out of the ballroom, past the foyer with the candles and marble cherubs, and out the enormous double door to the stone staircase. He let go of Emilie's hand in his great hurry to exit the castle.

"Luc, _please_ tell me what is going on!" Emilie heard dozens of footsteps behind her. She needed answers from these people, and curiosity made her stop. She watched the man she loved run down the stairs. He stopped briefly mid-step and looked up at her.

"Are you coming with me? Or are you staying to believe their lies?" he shouted back angrily.

"I don't understand! What happened?" she called out.

Other people burst out of the castle doors and rushed down the stairs, thundering past Emilie. The Prince's guards and other members of his household- some with swords and bayonets- took chase after her beloved fiancé.

Gaston picked up his pace and ran faster. He cleared the staircase and ran to the stable area where he remembered their coach had been parked, where the horses were resting. Darkness had fallen.

"He's right there!" His pursuers were gaining ground.

Gaston ran and dodged between dozens of parked carriages. Horses nickered in the stables nearby. He tripped over a wooden plank on the ground, used to keep the parked carriages from moving on the sloped terrain. He stumbled, and fell on his hip next to a coach wheel, wincing as at least ten men arrived.

They all began manhandling him at once, jostling each other like eager children for the chance to be the main captor. They grasped his arms and jerked him up to a standing position. A rope was being bound around his wrists.

"Don't move! His Highness has ordered you to the dungeon!" came the gruff voice of the large man to his right. The fellow's huge hands squeezed Gaston's right bicep painfully.

The man on Gaston's left side spoke in bitter anger. "I don't know _who_ the hell you are! But if this is your idea of a joke, if you're an impostor or some hired charlatan _,_ you're just as guilty as Gaston Legume, if you ask me!" His voice was vaguely familiar.

Gaston glanced over to the young man grasping him by the left elbow. Stanley Laurent. An old friend. Younger brother of Dick Laurent, one of Gaston's childhood pals and later hangers-on.

"Do you remember me?" Stanley asked Gaston in a rather insolent tone. He fingered the hilt of a sword at his waist.

" _No_ ," Gaston replied.

…

Gaston's ropes were untied only after he was taken into the dungeon cell. Stanley, along with a guard named Boutin and three others, backed away from him as if he were an animal, exiting the cell without a word. Boutin casually slammed the iron door shut and the group of guards turned to leave. Their footsteps echoed down the spiral staircase.

Stanley lingered alone just outside the cell, staring at him. One torchlight illuminated the wall outside the cell, bathing Stanley's handsome features in a golden glow. Gaston watched the younger man draw his sword out and point it to him in a threatening gesture.

It was laughable to him. Gaston chuckled a bit, remembering Stanley as a child with his silly little toy wooden sword, tagging along after Dick and Tom.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Gaston erased the incriminating smirk from his face.

It was imperative that he keep 'Luc' alive, no matter what. He needed to deny all knowledge of his former existence as Gaston Legume, and that meant changing everything about himself. His demeanor, his tone of voice, his bearing. Everything he had just re-learned, he now needed to unlearn. He decided it was best to stay quiet.

The man on the outside of the cell didn't leave. He kept staring at Gaston with an angry, trying-to-be-menacing look on his face, pointing his sword. Gaston _wished_ he would leave, because it was torture trying to not speak. After several moments, he surrendered to the temptation.

"Would you mind...telling me what I'm being imprisoned for?" Gaston asked in a hoarse, gentle voice.

"You don't _know_?" Stanley scoffed.

"With all due respect," Gaston uttered.

The phrase immediately brought back guilty memories of one person from the 'old life.' The only one Gaston truly wanted to see again. Lefou.

Lefou would identify him if he saw him. Lefou knew every scar, every battle wound on his body from the war. Then, Gaston recalled a bizarre detail of his fake life. Something that happened to him only a few months ago.

As 'Luc,' he'd drank the healing medicine that Aloysius fellow had given him, which had erased all scars on his body. The scars from smallpox, the scar on his back he'd acquired from the thug who'd knifed him- and the old bayonet scar on his thigh, the one that he had acquired during his _real_ life at age seventeen.

Once Gaston was alone, he could check his leg to see if the scar had magically re-appeared. Agathe _would_ be so cruel as to do that to him!

Stanley kept his sword aloft. Gaston could practically feel the anger and bitterness radiating from the man like heat waves. "You don't have _any idea_? Tell me the truth!" he spat. "Are you or are you _not_ Gaston Legume?"

"I don't know who that is. And would you mind putting that away, Monsieur?"

Gaston chose his words carefully, using a polite, cheerful tone. It was the vocal air that Lefou used nearly all the time, when he wasn't slightly tipsy from ale and loudly belting out a song, or dancing on tables like a silly fool. Despite his quirks, Gaston missed him like crazy.

He missed Lefou so much that even in his fake life, he had turned up in his _dreams_! Where was he now? Gaston knew Stanley was close friends with him, from what he'd seen in Agathe's Magic Mirror. The man likely spoke with him every day.

 _Was Lefou still in Villeneuve?_ Gaston wondered. Did he still live in Gaston's old home, or was he back in the tiny cottage of his dead parents? Did he ever get around to doing the things he sometimes talked about, like learning to brew ale, or breed horses? Did he have the time to live his own separate life now? Was he better off without Gaston? It was likely that he was.

Stanley scowled at Gaston, seeming to enjoy the 'authority' he had over the prisoner. Conversely, all Gaston wanted to do was ask him if Lefou was well. But alas, he could not.

This was a well-designed torture. Agathe _must_ be behind this, too.

As a sort of odd defense mechanism, Gaston began to speak again, adopting his dearest old friend's speech style and mannerisms which were so vastly the opposite of his own.

"I'm locked up in a dungeon. See?" Gaston held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. "So, I guess, um, hurting you isn't really an _option_ at the moment? So uh...would you _terribly_ mind putting your weapon down?" Gaston gave Stanley the brightest, most angelic smile he could possibly muster. Stanley rolled his eyes.

"Will you _shut up_?" The younger man put his sword back in his belt. Gaston could see his dark eyes glistening in a storm of emotion. He was curious as to what was behind it. It seemed that whatever Gaston had done to anger Stanley was personal.

He smiled at the man in a compassionate way, feigning innocence further. "Sorry."

"This is no joke, you ass," Stanley accused bitterly. " _Merde_ , I hope you don't think it's funny that _my_ best friend could be in his sickbed _dying_ because of you! He keeled over in a faint and hit his head on the floor! After he saw _you_! I'm about to go back down to take care of him, but first I need to find out the truth!"

Gaston became alarmed. Stanley couldn't be talking about Dick, or Tom. He couldn't imagine _them_ swooning at his return. But he did recall who once fainted upon seeing his first war battle.

"I'm sorry your best friend is hurt," Gaston said quietly, hoping to glean more information. "What's his name? I...I want to send him my heartfelt thoughts."

"You don't _deserve_ to hear his name again!" Stanley cried. "After all he _did_ for you, and you just-" He didn't finish his thought. He looked like he was about to cry. _Tough_ _guy_ , sure.

Gaston was able to guess who Stanley's best friend was now. The thought brought him sorrow.

Of all the ways that Agathe could punish him. Make it so that his return from the dead would not only turn Emilie away, but kill Lefou. This nightmare was not going to end, and Gaston couldn't feel humor or amusement in the circumstances any longer.

"Who are you? For _real_?" Stanley asked, softening with a bit of hopeful disbelief.

"My name is Luc Avenant," Gaston began to explain, keeping his voice light and innocent. "I'm a servant for the Marquis de Brumagne. I came here with friends and colleagues. I'm from Paris."

"I _want_ to believe it," Stanley said, his voice going dry and hoarse. He turned and went down the stairs, leaving Gaston alone in his cell. Gaston pulled up his trouser leg and checked to see if the old bayonet scar he used to have was still gone. It was. Nothing but clean, unblemished skin.

"Lefou, you _have_ to get well. You _have_ to get up here to see me," he whispered to himself.

…

Meanwhile, Emilie had been standing on the balustrade of the castle's front staircase, watching the group of men scatter throughout the castle grounds in pursuit of her Luc. She began to descend the stairs slowly, with nowhere to go.

" _Luc_!" she cried out in the darkness. The guards chasing him had disappeared from sight.

"Luc! What is happening? _Please_ come back and tell me!"

No one could hear her. Tears sprang to her eyes as it dawned on her that Luc had been lying to her all along about his past. That he was somehow connected to this Prince, and the people in this castle, and he was hiding something sinister about himself. But _what?_

What was it that he said to her? ' _Are you coming with me? Or are you going to stay here and believe their lies?'_

Emilie had no choice but to find out what 'lies' he meant. She turned and went up the stairs into the castle. The first person she saw in the grand foyer was Adelaide, who'd been looking for her as well.

" _Emilie!_ " Her sister rushed to hug her. "Oh my God. Oh my _God_! They're all saying these terrible things!"

"What terrible things?"

"They're calling Luc by another name. They all say he's Gaston-something. And that he's an attempted _murderer!_ "

"Murderer?" Emilie gasped.

"They said he tried to kill Prince Adam! That can't be true!"

" _How_? I don't understand!" She clung tightly to her sister's comforting arms.

They held each other until a finely-dressed couple approached them. The man had a mustache and a fancy, bright gold coat. The lady was of dark skin tone, slender, wearing a festive white dress and a white feather headpiece adorning her hair.

" _Excusez-moi,_ ladies. Is there anything we can do to help?" the man asked them.

"My sister's fiancé has just been accused of murder, Monsieur. And somebody's making a huge and utterly _stupid mistake_ about it, if you ask _me_!" Adelaide shouted at him in indignation.

"I am terribly sorry, mademoiselle!" said the man. "Are you referring to the dastardly criminal known as Gaston Legume? _Je suis désolé,_ he is being taken to the dungeon as we speak."

" _Lumiere_! They do not know these things. Be gentle in what you say!" the woman with the feathered headpiece chastised him. "Forgive us for revealing the news to you so harshly," she said to the girls. "But we are afraid it _is_ the most unpleasant truth."

"You have the wrong _person!_ " Emilie shouted. "Luc couldn't have tried to kill _anyone_! Whoever that was, it isn't him!"

"Luc? Is this the pseudonym he is going by, then?" the man asked.

"It's not a pseudo-anything!" Adelaide argued. "It's his _name_!"

" _Ma cherie_ Plumette, could it be possible that they are telling the truth? Do we have an imposter on our hands?" the man named Lumiere considered.

"You're Plumette?" Adelaide asked, still holding her sister's hand in support. "I'm glad to meet you, Madame. Your brother Marcel was our coachman today. Did he see you?"

Plumette smiled at her with kindness. "I am glad that he finally paid me a visit in any way he could. _Non,_ but it is because I have been so busy with service. Please come into the tea room with us," she said to them in a comforting tone. "I'll find Mrs. Potts, and we'll have a talk. You girls are not at fault for anything. You can stay in the castle until you find a way back home. What are your names?"

"I'm Adelaide, and this is my sister Emilie. She's engaged to be married to the man they just locked up."

"I am so, _so_ sorry," Plumette said in discomfort.

"If there is a way this _was_ a mistake, we will try our best to fix it. The Prince is a good man. He _will_ listen to his defense." Lumiere added in consolation.

Emilie and Adelaide were quiet, trying to process all of this, as they were led by the kind couple into a smaller room down the hallway.

Inside the room, there were small tables covered with ivory lace tablecloths, pots of tea and cups set upon each. Leftover pieces of Prince Adam's birthday cake were left on china plates. Most of the pieces were small, crumbling remains of the festive party that was at its zenith hours earlier.

The lady left the room for a moment, and the mustached man looked at the two girls with sympathy.

"I sincerely do not know how to bring relief to you about this. It is a great shock to see this man still alive. But I must ask you, _where_ has he been for the last year? And how long have you known him?" He seemed very honest and trustworthy. Emilie and Adelaide felt free to talk.

"I've known Luc for...over half a year, I think," recalled Emilie. "And we met in Paris."

"Paris?"

"Yes."

Monsieur Lumiere furrowed his brow. "Hmm...how could Gaston Legume have made it to Paris of all places, after falling from the high tower as Belle had described?" he wondered aloud.

"Easy," piped up Adelaide. "By not being Gaston Legume! And, let me think- by being who he is! Which is our friend Luc, our Head of Household. He works for the Marquis Antoine de Brumagne. I'm sure that he'll demand that you people let him go!"

"Mademoiselle," Lumiere said, closing his eyes in exasperation, "unfortunately...it is not up to the Marquis. His Highness Prince Adam has ordered this man to be held in the dungeon. He may not _be_ the person you know him as, I am afraid."

"Oh," Adelaide muttered, letting the gravity of the situation sink in.

Emilie sniffled and tried to hold back a fresh flow of tears. Could he have been lying? Was he on the run from the law? Could he actually have been this killer, and had reached Paris with a change of name?

Plumette had returned, now accompanied by a lady wearing an apron and ruffled bonnet. "The poor dear," the woman whispered when she saw Emilie.

"Monsieur," Emilie said to Lumiere in a choked voice, "all I know is...is that Luc _said_ he lived in Paris all his life. He lived in an apartment building in the poorest part of the city. With his aunt. He took care of her in her old age."

"And...what was this aunt's name?" inquired Lumiere softly.

"Agathe," said Emilie. "His Aunt Agathe."

" _Sacrebleu_!" exclaimed Lumiere. "That's _it_!"

"Oh my," the new woman said grimly. "Oh dear! She must have put Gaston Legume under a curse. The man never died at _all_. He only disappeared! It's the only way to explain all this! Don't you agree, Plumette?"

"It must have been Agathe," Plumette said. "I don't understand, why would she even bother to put a spell on someone like _him_? He did not seem worth it at all!"

"But you must remember that the Master himself was not...er...the most _pleasant_ person in his youth," Lumiere reminded them. "Mademoiselle Agathe must have wanted to reform Gaston, as he reformed our beloved Master."

"Either that, or bring him to a more harsh punishment if he ran away alive without justice," said Plumette. "Belle had said that Gaston was nothing but a monster, his heart colder than our Master's ever was."

Emilie held back emotion as she tried to make sense of it all. "So...the man I thought I loved...who I thought loved _me_...was someone who escaped justice? Who actually tried to kill the Prince and get away with it?"

The three castle servants nodded sadly. "He was in a state of mad jealousy and wanted Belle for himself when she was only a common, single girl, much like you, living in his village. He tried to kill Prince Adam for her," said Lumiere. "Though there was more to it than that," he mumbled softly.

"A _spell_?" Adelaide wondered. "I don't understand what you're talking about. There's no such thing as spells. I don't like what you are saying about Luc's poor aunt being accused of witchcraft. There's no such thing as magic."

"Ah, mademoiselle. I am afraid we revealed too much to you indiscreetly," said Lumiere. "We wish we could regale you with the whole story, but it is too late at night and we want you both to rest. Plumette and Mrs. Potts, could you show the ladies to more comfortable rooms?"

"There are no guest rooms available, but you can each stay in our family suites on the third floor. We have sofas," Mrs. Potts explained. She approached Emilie and lay a hand softly on her shoulder. "You need to rest, my poppet."

Adelaide was invited to spend the night on Lumiere and Plumette's sitting room sofa, where she surprisingly nodded off like a baby. Lumiere had not been offended by the girl's blunt and argumentative manner. In fact, it was like Belle herself all over again when she'd first come to the castle.

Emilie, meanwhile, was taken by Mrs. Potts and her husband to spend the night in their family suite. Mrs. Potts gave the distressed woman a cup of soothing chamomile tea to sleep.

...

After hearing the two women's side of the story, Lumiere and Plumette decided they needed to relay what they'd learned about the return of Gaston to Belle and Adam. So after helping the two sisters get settled, they rushed to Belle and Adam's suites in the West Wing.

Plumette walked past the empty, darkened ballroom with Lumiere at her side. She heard a familiar voice call out.

" _Jacinta Colombe!"_

Only her blood relatives from the Magical world called her by her birth name. Plumette turned around to see her brother Marcel running to catch up with her and Lumiere.

"Marcel! I was told you were here!" She stopped to let her brother hug her. "You look well!" she exclaimed fondly. Lumiere embraced the man and shook his hand.

"Welcome to the castle, Marcel, _mon garçon!_ Did you drive one of your flying Enchanted carriages here?" Lumiere asked jovially.

"Not a flying carriage. I drove the hard way, mostly," he laughed. "I'd love to catch up on things later, but I have important work here. I need to speak to His and Her Highnesses. I am investigating, er, Magical crimes."

Plumette's face lost her good humor. "Marcel, is it Agathe? I've _told_ you again and again she is _not_ an evil or Dark enchantress. She has done much good for us here. She helped create a safe road to the castle for travelers, and she healed Chip's illness with a potion made by her magical cousin. I wish you and your colleagues would put it to rest."

Marcel sighed. "Oh, Jacinta...I know you have forgiven her, but she is as close to Dark as possible in our opinion. She's being held in the _Maison pour Crimes Noirs,_ beneath the grounds of Paris."

"Who put Agathe there?" Plumette asked in shock.

"Monsieur Sauvageon put her there," said Marcel. "I'm gathering evidence for her fair trial."

Plumette frowned, but decided she didn't want to argue about such a thing. She, her brother, and Lumiere needed to be a united front when they spoke to Belle and Adam.

...

Belle was seething in anger, pacing up and down in their private parlour. "He could've been plotting to _kill_ you tonight, Adam!" she exclaimed.

"What if it isn't actually him, _mon ange_? I could see fear and sorrow in his eyes."

"Fear and sorrow, certainly! Fear and sorrow that he was _caught_! And besides, I heard him say my name!"

"But you are the Princess of Alsace, my love. Everyone would know your name."

"He called me 'Belle.' Not 'Your Highness,'" Belle argued. "Only a few acquaintances from the village would still call me plain 'Belle' these days. Normally, I _prefer_ it. But not in _his_ case!"

A loud knocking sounded on the door of their suite. "Who is it?" Adam called out.

"Master, it is _me_ , Lumiere! We have learned some things about Gaston's whereabouts over the last year!"

"Please, come in," said Belle, weary with anger and shock.

Lumiere came in, accompanied by Plumette and another man, a dark and handsome young fellow whom Adam and Belle had never properly met.

"Your Grace, this is my brother Marcel Clement. He has knowledge of what happened with Gaston," said Plumette.

"What knowledge?" Adam demanded.

"Agathe put Gaston under a curse," said Marcel. "I am a sorcerer, and a spy for the Magical society. Agathe broke many laws of our world, and so she-"

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but _where_ was Gaston all this time?" asked Belle, wanting to get to the point. " _Who_ were the people he walked in with?"

"Your brother is _magical_?" Adam asked Plumette.

" _Oui_ ," the maid replied. "It is a long story, Master Adam. But I was born _without_ the Gift. I did not fit in with the rest of our family. That is why I needed work. Your mother found me as a young girl while your father was away commanding his ships. She took pity on me and took me in," Plumette explained.

Adam nodded quietly in understanding. This sounded so much like something his late mother might have done.

"But to answer your question, Mistress Belle," Plumette continued, "Gaston was in Paris, according to two women he was with. He even has a fiancée now, a girl named Emilie. The poor thing! She believes him to be someone else."

"That's terrible!" cried Belle. "I want to speak to her tomorrow. That _monster_! How could he _lie_ to her like that?"

"I beg your pardon, Your Highnesses," Marcel addressed Belle and Adam in a reasoning tone. "I have evidence to believe that this man Gaston was put under a powerful spell by Agathe. A spell in which he did not _know_ who he was. He spent the past year believing himself to be someone else."

"I personally would have _wanted_ to see that man believing he was someone else," Adam remarked. "I wonder if she turned him into a hideous little dwarf? Now that would have been only fair, don't you agree, my love?"

Adam caught Belle giving him a look of exasperation. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"I perfectly understand your logic, Adam," Belle said to her husband, though she wasn't in the mood for levity.

" _Why_ would Agathe _do_ this?" Belle wondered aloud to all. "During the time she stayed in Villeneuve and acted as a poor beggar, I remember Gaston treated her so cruelly. Why would she want to even _bother_ with redeeming him?" She looked to Marcel. "Monsieur, I don't know if you're magical, but I trust Plumette's word if you're her relative. Do _you_ know whether or not he actually died from the fall?"

"Your Highness, our evidence from the Magical world makes us believe that Agathe Sauvageon brought Gaston back from the dead. That is a crime forbidden of Enchanted people. I have a Magical Mirror which I can show you. And my colleague confiscated Agathe's wand. But I would rather wait until tomorrow to share the details. It is late at night and you look very tired, Your Highnesses."

"Oh _no_! Back from the _dead_? Why?" Belle exclaimed, shocked and angry. She looked to Adam, whose face paled.

...

That night, Emilie tossed and turned on a plush sofa in the Potts' family suite. She lay awake for hours, crying in silence. Her dream of a man loving her had turned into a nightmare.

Gaston, meanwhile, took off his coat and used it as a pillow, trying to get comfortable in the small, dank dungeon. He could barely sleep.

...


	23. Visitation

Chapter 23- Visitation

…

Emilie fell asleep sometime in the morning. She awoke late to Mrs. Potts' offer of tea and croissants on a platter next to the sofa.

"Merci, Madame," she said to the lady after eating her breakfast without joy.

"It was no bother on my part at all, poppet. When you are ready, dear, the Princess would like to meet with you in her quarters. You deserve an explanation."

" _Merci,_ " she whispered.

Mrs. Potts walked with Emilie across the grand foyer and up a flight of stairs, leading her to the 'West Wing,' the suites of rooms occupied by the Prince and Princess.

Dread caused Emilie's stomach to turn. How did Luc, if he truly was a criminal, try to murder Princess Belle's husband? How did he escape justice? It was best that she learn the entire truth now. She was still young. She would learn to forget Luc, and move on with her life. _Survive,_ as she had done before.

Mrs. Potts knocked on the door. "Mistress Belle, I have Mademoiselle Emilie here to see you, dear."

The door opened, and Emilie was surprised by how modest-looking Princess Belle appeared compared to last night in her pale yellow finery. She wore her hair down, except for two thin braids pulled back at the temples. She wore no makeup, her complexion accented with freckles. The Princess wore a medium blue ankle-length dress of a simple fabric, and looked to be only about the age of Emilie herself, give or take a year. They could almost be mistaken as sisters.

Emilie started to bow. "Your Highness."

Belle smiled, albeit a sad one. "No need for formalities. It's good to meet you. Come in."

Emilie was led into an elegant but cozy parlour room, filled with Rococo furniture and one large, sheer-curtained window looking out into the forests. Late morning sun spilled upon a small table. Upon the table were two well-crafted music boxes. Two framed charcoal sketches were hung on the walls- one of a baby, another of a young woman. A pile of books lay haphazardly on another small table next to a wooden rocking chair.

Belle gestured for Emilie to sit upon the plush settee, while she settled into her rocking chair, moving a patchwork quilt aside and curling up comfortably with it. Emilie noticed that Belle wore a pair of threadbare slippers, instead of formal shoes. She was certainly not a girl who had grown up in the aristocracy.

"Mademoiselle, I _need_ to apologize to you," Belle began. "I'm very sorry for the circumstances you were thrown into last night, and the way you saw me speaking and behaving towards your...fiancé."

"I understand." Emilie's eyes began to sting, but she willed herself to not cry anymore.

"I didn't notice you in the ballroom at first. When I learned about you, it...to be honest, it broke my heart."

Emilie nodded sadly.

"This is so awkward," said Belle. "It's unpleasant for me to talk about the details of my experiences with your fiancé. I _will_ tell you, but I'd rather hear _your_ story first. I want to hear it untarnished by anything else. So, is it alright if I ask...how long have you _known_ him?" she asked, her hands fidgeting with the quilt on her lap.

"About seven months." Emilie realized how terribly short a time that was. And how fast she and Luc had fallen into their relationship. And how _foolish_ that had been on her part.

"Do you recall the things he said about his life _before_ that?"

"He never talked about his past. He mentioned being a cab carriage driver once, but very little otherwise. When I was first getting to know him, I visited his apartment in Paris, and he'd caught smallpox. I was asked by a mutual friend to cook for him because I recovered from smallpox myself, and so I couldn't become sick with it again. When I first met him, he was _not_ a pleasant person."

Belle nodded quietly, urging Emilie on.

"He was bitter and angry. He was willing himself to die, because he hated his circumstances. Not only had he caught a disease, but he was destitute. The apartment he lived in was one of the poorest places I've ever visited. And here I had thought my _own_ family was poor! Visiting Luc's place for the first time made me want to count my blessings."

"He was suffering _that much_?" Belle asked.

"Yes. I admit it _wasn't_ love at first sight," Emilie recalled. "Actually, my very first meeting with Luc was at my cousin's wedding. He seemed boastful and full of himself. Arrogant."

"Exactly!" said Belle, unable to help herself. "That's how Gaston was."

Emilie frowned. She did not know 'Gaston,' she only knew Luc. "After he became sick with smallpox, I saw firsthand what his real life was like. It turned out this poor man was covering up a miserable existence. I disliked his attitude. He was mean, unwashed, coarse, yelling a lot at our friend Jean, saying he wanted to be left alone to die. But after spending some time with him, he seemed to open up, and it...it was as if his cold heart began to soften."

Belle's mouth opened a little as if she were about to say something. She glanced at the door of her parlour for a moment, seeming to ponder a thought, or wishing for someone to come in to join her. Finally, she turned back to Emilie.

"What _sorts_ of things made his heart soften? What made him happier?"

"I think he wanted more than anything to be admired, and to feel useful. He became much happier when he was hired to work at the Marquis de Brumagne's country estate outside of Paris. He was a stonemason and builder. He changed a lot during that time. And after he and I worked together at the estate, after we developed a friendship, we...we began to fall in love."

"Oh," Belle said quietly, touched by the sentiment in spite of it all. "Was he a kind man to you?"

Emilie blinked back tears at the fond memories. "Yes. He began to show such kindness and caring to me, especially one time when I was hurt. He fought off some cruel men last winter. They were attacking my sister and I in the forest. Luc was quite a fighter. He stopped them before they could...hurt us worse, and he was sliced in the back with a knife by one of them. I remember how shy and unsure Luc was when he sat at my bedside. I even remember the way he rubbed my feet after the attack. Even though he was injured _himself!_ It's such a little thing, but it meant the _world_ to me. I think _that_ was the moment I truly started to fall for him."

Belle sat in the rocking chair listening intently, twisting and squeezing the patchwork quilt in her hands with growing stress. When Emilie paused in her recollections, she spoke.

"He did this all _unselfishly_? What you're saying is so hard for me to believe."

"Yes!" Emilie nodded. "He might have been cold and bitter at one time, but he was also one of the most hard-working and unselfish people on the staff. He became Head of Household for the Marquis. And that reminds me, I wish I knew what His Honor the Marquis says about this. It must be a shock to him."

"The Marquis de Brumagne is speaking with Adam downstairs," said Belle. "I know he's trying to defend him. It's only fair." She sighed. "This is such a difficult situation. And now I'm starting to think that Adam and I may have been mistaken in our judgment."

"Truly?" Emilie said, a glimmer of hope forming that Luc may not be the criminal.

"Yes. Not to get your hopes up. I'm sorry. But it sounds to me...like there's a _vast_ difference between the man Gaston, who I remember, and the man Luc, who you love. And there are other things that my husband and I need to find out about him. What his past year entailed."

"Your Highness," said Emilie, "now that I've told you about my- the man who _was_ my fiancé, I _need_ to hear about this Gaston. It's hard for me to believe that Luc is the same person."

"All right," said Belle quietly. "I'll tell you. It isn't pleasant."

Within five or six minutes, Belle gave Emilie a brief synopsis of her story- her former common village life in Villeneuve, how she'd lived with her widower artist father, and how Gaston Legume had pestered and harassed her for at least three years about marrying him. How his rude and pushy advances had intensified that year- the year of the castle, of Adam, the year her life changed in such a magical way.

She left out the enchanted and magical elements; that could wait until another time, perhaps. She stated the facts- how Gaston was resentful of Belle's father for not allowing her hand in marriage, how he hurt and threatened her Papa in retaliation, tied him to a tree and left him to die. How Gaston manipulated his own friends and formed a mob to attack Adam. Shooting him in cold blood.

Finally, Belle added the detail of his fall from the tower. "The stone bridge he stood on crumbled, and he plummeted to the ground from the highest point of our castle."

" _Mon_ _Dieu_!" Emilie was saddened and horrified by the story. Nothing that Belle described sounded anything like Luc, other than his sometimes haughty attitude and how he'd been so blunt and forward in his own marriage proposal to her. Belle's comment about Gaston 'manipulating' his friends raised a red flag. If he manipulated others, could he have been doing the same to _her_ all along?

And the manner of his death, or _lack_ of death, was incredible.

"I don't understand how he could have survived a fall like that," said Emilie.

Belle sighed. "There was more to the story. I _saw_ him fall...but he was never found dead. No body. It was all a mystery."

Belle balled up the quilt in her hands, squeezing it as she continued to speak in discomfort. "Our first assumption last night was that he was back to try to kill my husband in some terrible scheme. But if Gaston- or Luc, as you call him, truly _has_ reformed, and he's decided to live a good life, I wonder why he was willing to return _here._ To the scene of his crimes."

...

 _Agathe's curses, and her memory-altering charms!_ That had to be the answer, Belle thought to herself privately.

Last night, the man named Marcel who claimed to be a sorcerer said he had 'evidence' that Gaston was cursed to think he was someone else.

The pieces of this mystery were beginning to fit together in Belle's mind. When Gaston came to the castle, he did not know who he was!

Belle didn't feel comfortable discussing magic and sorcery with people who hadn't experienced it. She would rather have someone of magical knowledge, like Marcel, reveal it to her. Agathe herself had been put in magical prison, which made this mystery more difficult to work through.

She didn't know _what_ to do. Gaston would have to remain in the dungeon for the time being. Yet, she wanted to help Emilie deal with this as much as she could.

"Emilie, I want to allow you to go up to the dungeon to visit him," she said. "I know that sounds upsetting and frightening-"

"I _want_ to see him. I need to confront him. I want to know why he lied!" Emilie exclaimed.

"Try not to confront him in anger, though. _Please_. Give him the benefit of the doubt."

"I'll try."

"And after _you_ have a chance to visit him, I would like to interview with him _myself._ When would you like me to escort you to the the tower staircase for a visit?"

" _Now_. I'd like to talk to him right now," Emilie insisted.

They left the cozy parlour room. Belle led Emilie out of the West Wing and up a few flights of spiral staircases to a dim hallway, lit only by one narrow window. It was a part of the castle which sorely lacked the gaiety, luxury, and warmth of the rooms downstairs.

After they crossed the hall, Belle opened a creaky door to yet another stairway. "Emilie, just follow this staircase. It leads up the tower, to the dungeon cell. It's not a pleasant place, but I can see what we can do to treat our prisoner more humanely."

...

Gaston heard footsteps going up to his dungeon again. He'd had a visitor this morning already, but it was only M. Boutin the guard, giving him some water and stale bread for a sparse breakfast. He hoped that it might be someone friendly, someone on his side.

The Marquis Antoine perhaps, telling him that he had appealed to Prince Adam for Gaston's freedom. He doubted that would happen. He also doubted that it could be any of his friends. And he _surely_ doubted that it could be...

" _Emilie?"_

He braced himself for her announcement- that she no longer wanted anything to do with him, the engagement was off, that she was going to head back home to the mansion with the Marquis, his family, the others. They would go back to live their lives, and Gaston would be left to his doom here.

After Emilie cleared the staircase, she tentatively approached his cell. She wore her simple light green dress, her hair down. As lovely as she had looked last night, all festive for the party, Gaston preferred her this way. It was more like the way things had been before. More like _home._

"I...I don't know what name to call you," she said in a shaking voice.

"Call me what you've always called me," he said tenderly. "I still love you."

She shook her head. "But _they_ say you're the criminal named Gaston! That you shot the Prince, and you even tried to kill Princess Belle's father when she was only a common girl living in that village. And on the ride here, you said you thought the town looked 'familiar' to you! What was that all about? Do you have a double _life_? It's all crazy to me! I need the _truth_!"

"It's mistaken identity," he insisted, keeping his calm about him. "Emilie, _please_ go to Marquis Antoine. He needs to appeal to the Prince. They have the wrong man, I assure you. There _was_ a man from Villeneuve named Gaston, and he was the spitting image of me. _He_ was the one who attempted to murder Prince Adam."

"I don't know who to believe anymore."

"Emilie, please. Believe _me_." He reached his hand outside the bars to touch hers. Emilie did not reach her hand out in response. She shook her head.

"I can't, until I know the truth. What about those 'dreams' you talked of? Were they just your way of telling me about your life of crime and murder plots? Pretending it didn't happen, when it really _did_? You hated Prince Adam so much, you were so jealous of him that he became a 'horned beast' in your twisted mind?"

"Emilie, stop. That isn't fair. It wasn't me," Gaston said in a quiet voice.

This wasn't a lie, in Gaston's mind. He wanted so desperately to think that he was _not_ Gaston Legume anymore, to the point where he was willing it to become reality.

The truth was that Gaston simply wanted 'Gaston' dead. Simple as that.

"I've met with Her Highness, Princess Belle. She wants to see you today," Emilie told him.

" _Belle?_ She's coming _?_ " Gaston's calm demeanor crumbled, his eyes revealing a flash of stress and alarm.

Emilie couldn't help but notice his strong emotional reaction to her words. "You look as if you _knew_ her! I can see it in your eyes."

"No! I never knew her! You're mistaken-"

"You _are_ lying to me! You _do_ have a past with Princess Belle! If you really _were_ a man named Luc from the slums of Paris, you'd be a total stranger to her. You would've said 'Her Highness.' You _knew_ her when she was a common village girl, didn't you?"

Gaston's pulse increased, his heart thudded. He'd given himself away.

"I don't know what you're talking about, accusing me like that!" he argued bitterly. "I _told_ you not to believe their lies! But you didn't _listen_! No, you stayed back, and got yourself brainwashed by _those people_!"

Anger boiled up within him, anger that he couldn't escape his past, anger at people like Belle and Adam who wouldn't let it go, and anger at that witch Agathe. _Damn them all!_ He didn't deserve this!

Emilie backed away. "I don't know who you are anymore. I feel like the man I love just died. I...I need to go." She turned and ran down the stairs, sobbing.

Gaston hit the cell bars with his fist, infuriated. After a moment, he let loose.

"EMILIE!" he shouted. "Okay, do you want the _real_ truth? Here it is! I AM GASTON!"

The moment his voice echoed down the stairs, his rage gave into despair, then to resignation. _This was it._ Now that he'd said it, there was _no_ going back to the good life he'd built. He would lose Emilie forever.

He forged ahead with his explanations like a soldier on the battlefield, shouting out in surrender.

"But this _isn't_ my fault, do you understand?" he yelled. "I _was_ that man once. But I was SUPPOSED to die! I was supposed to be dead after I fell off the castle tower! But my so-called 'Aunt Agathe' was a WITCH! She brought me back to life. It's true! She used magic to bring me all the way to Paris, to start my life over again. I wanted to stay there, but SHE made it so I ended up here _._ She tricked me with her sorcery! _I'm_ the victim!"

The door at the foot of the staircase had been left open. When Emilie exited the stairwell, Belle was standing outside in the hall. Both women were still in earshot of Gaston's tirades, loud and clear.

"EMILIE! I love you and I always will, but it's time for me to _die_. If I can't have you, and the better life I built, I want _no life_ at all! I demand my execution! I plead _guilty_ to trying to kill Prince Adam!"

Belle stood listening, a sorrowful look on her face. Emilie wiped a tear from her eye and took a deep breath, remembering last year, and Luc's suicidal funk he'd been in.

"Your Highness...this doesn't surprise me at all," Emilie told Belle, a feeling of calm resignation coming over her. "I remember him being like this before. I thought he was getting well, but now that this happened, he's worse. He's a very sick man. Have mercy on him."

"I don't know what to do," said Belle, placing one palm on her forehead as if a headache was growing. "I'm the Princess, but I _don't_ want to order him killed. Especially if he _wants_ it. I'm concerned about how Adam feels about this. The truth is, the magic Gaston talks about...it's real."

Emilie gasped. " _What_?" She gave Belle an appalled look. "Your Highness...forgive me, but you come across as very intelligent and reasonable. _You_ believe in sorcery and magic, too?"

"I've _lived_ it," said Belle. "It's a long story, and I do _agree_ with you, really." She smiled a little at the absurdity. "You'll need to see proof, to understand all that my husband and I lived through."

"The couple named Lumiere and Plumette talked about magic spells last night. But I can't believe in this magic everyone talks about until I see it for myself," said Emilie.

"Very understandable," replied Belle. "The Enchantress Agathe _is_ the woman behind this, Emilie. But her fellow Magical people have imprisoned her. The things she did to Gaston, _and_ to my husband Adam, are crimes according to their government."

"This 'enchantress' woman did something to Prince Adam, too?" Emilie asked.

Belle nodded. "It's a long story," she reiterated. "You'll learn more about it soon if you spend time with our household. Right now, I'm going up to the dungeon to speak with Gaston myself."

"Are you sure you _want_ to?"

"It's all right, Emilie. You go on downstairs to the West Wing. Follow the long hall with the golden cherubs to our library. My husband and the Marquis de Brumagne are there, having a meeting. I'd like you to join them."

Gaston had quieted his raving- for now.

Emilie glanced at Belle before they parted ways. "Good luck." She watched Belle ascend the stairs to the dungeon.

Emilie turned and found her way downstairs, finding the hallway with golden cherubs and great portraits of noble people. There was a large, open room at the end. She heard people's lively voices coming from inside. She entered, feeling nervous.

…

"Belle," Gaston said when he saw the Princess approach his cell. He met her eyes for a moment, then averted them just as quickly. "I never expected to see you again. Nor did I even _want_ to."

"Hello, Gaston. I'm trying my best to help. Help _Emilie_ , that is, not you," she declared. "She didn't deserve for this to happen."

"No, she didn't!" he spat. "So, are you _enjoying_ this? Do you like seeing a man about to die? _Again_?"

"No," Belle said, shaking her head. "I don't. I just want to speak civilly to you. I want you to tell us your side of the story. I'm willing to listen. Prince Adam is willing to listen. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes. I _do_ want to tell my story! I want _everyone_ to know how I was cursed and bewitched, and _then,_ I want to be sent to a peaceful death. _Please_."

"I would rather that not happen," said Belle.

"Of course," he scoffed. "You don't want my death to be peaceful. You want to see me thrown off a balcony. And I agree! Why don't we arrange to have your _husband_ do it?"

"That's _not_ what I mean!" shouted Belle, losing her patience as she always had whenever Gaston was within sight or earshot of her. Some things never changed, it seemed. "What I mean, is I want to learn everything about your curse. It's being investigated."

"Where _is_ that cowardly witch?" Gaston asked. "She can kill me with a curse. I even _asked_ her to do it. Right after she revived me from my rightful death without my consent. Of _course_ I didn't have her consent, I was _dead_! I wanted her to send me back to oblivion, but she _didn't._ "

"Agathe is in the Enchanted prison," said Belle, palming her forehead and enduring the headache coming on again. "She's already suffering the consequences given by her own people."

"She is, then? Good riddance. Well, I _still_ want to talk to everyone in this castle. Especially your husband. And Lefou, my old friend. I want to talk about my curse, what I was put through all year, all the ways I tried to prevail, and work hard, and make something _good_ and _noble_ of myself. And how I was tricked by that witch! And _then,_ I'll plead guilty of my old crimes, so your Prince can arrange for my execution right away."

"You _still_ wish to go out in a blaze of glory, don't you, Gaston?" Belle asked quietly.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't say glory. More like...dignity."

"Adam and I will give you a chance to speak. Is that what you truly want?" asked Belle.

" _Yes_ ," said Gaston, his eyes bloodshot and watering, his hands gripping the cell bars. "But that means you'll have to let me out of this prison."

"Wait one moment, Gaston," Belle said calmly, turning her back to him, towards the stairs. She began waving to what seemed like some invisible person in the stairwell.

...

The castle's library was a larger, more ostentatious room than the cozy parlour Emilie had been in before. There were tall shelves reaching nearly fifty feet high, covered in books- hundreds, perhaps thousands, of books. Below the vast bookshelves was a great fireplace and mantle, with a plush chair facing it.

Prince Adam was sitting upon the chair. Lumiere, Plumette, Mrs. Potts, and several other people- likely members of the Prince's household- were gathered around him on chairs and settees.

Marcel Clement, the coachman, stood beside the fireplace holding what looked like a hand mirror, its surface glowing like a lantern. Emilie then spotted Marquis Antoine, the Marquess, and Evangeline among the strangers. Even Prince Louis was there, reclined beside Evangeline on a sofa. She quickly joined them, taking a seat on the lavishly carpeted floor beside Evangeline.

" _Emilie_!" Evangeline whispered. "This is all so strange! I'm truly sorry about what happened," she said in a stage whisper, touching her shoulder in comfort. "Did you know that this man Marcel is a magician?" she continued whispering. "You should have _seen_ what he did a minute ago! He caused all the books in this library to fly off the shelves, float in the air, and they re-shelved themselves with a wave of his magic wand! It was the most amazing sight!"

"It was splendid," said Prince Louis. "The best entertainment I've ever beheld."

Emilie glanced around the great room to find Adelaide, but she was oddly absent.

"Where's Addie?"

"She was going outside, the last time I spoke to her," said Evangeline. "She's upset about what happened with Luc, and she told me she wants nothing to do with all the insane talk about magic. So she took off to wander the castle grounds alone, and take care of her cat."

"Oh." Emilie knew Addie could be stubborn, but to refuse to meet with the royal couple in a grand place like this? That seemed rude.

Marcel Clement began to speak, his pleasant baritone voice strangely amplified. "Ladies and gentleman, shall I begin?"

 _So the coach driver is putting on a magic show for the Prince- what a pleasant surprise,_ Emilie thought. Belle had said there was supposed to be a meeting between the Marquis and Prince Adam, regarding Luc- _Gaston_ , and his defense. Perhaps that would be later.

She may as well watch the show, to get her mind off her heartbreak over Luc- or Gaston. Marcel was likely just one of those illusionists that Evangeline sometimes spoke of, the ones who performed tricks at parties and minstrel shows. There must've been something logical behind the flying books.

"Emilie! I'm glad you could join us here," Marcel greeted her, noticing she'd wandered to the entertainment late. "Do you know where your sister is, by any chance?" he asked as an afterthought.

Then, he realized that his voice was still amplified. An embarrassed look crossed the coachman-magician's face for a moment. He drew a wooden stick out of his coat pocket and touched the end of it to his throat in an odd manner. "Excuse me," he said as his voice went down to normal.

"Emilie- do you know where Adelaide could be?" Marcel asked her, keeping a lowered tone.

"Adelaide? She's outside, wandering the grounds," said Emilie. "I can find her if you wish. But I'm afraid she told Lady Evangeline that magic is insane, and she wants nothing to do with it."

A sad, disappointed look appeared on Marcel's face, before he fixed his expression to that of a professional. He touched the stick to his throat again, and his voice was re-amplified.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm about to show you something that will surprise and astound you even more than the books, but please don't be frightened-"

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur," said an older gentleman with a British accent. "Incidentally, there aren't too many things that can frighten or astound the lot of us anymore. _Believe_ me."

Most of the people in the room laughed; the mustached man named Lumiere the loudest of all. Lumiere cleared his throat apologetically.

" _Ahem_. Excusez-moi. Please proceed, Monsieur Clement." He wrapped his arm around Plumette, his face sobering.

Marcel pointed his wand at the wall of books above the fireplace mantel. The section of books on the shelves all moved outward in midair and opened themselves up, revealing the white and ivory pages inside. Hundreds of open books crowded together and formed what looked like a blank painting canvas.

He flicked his wand at the small Mirror in his left hand, and then swished it into the air. The wand released a blue flame, which soared up to the great canvas screen made from the books. A gigantic image appeared, projected upon the screen. The image was of Princess Belle, in real time.

People all around the library gasped.

" _Bonjour_ to my friends and castle family. And of course, _you_ , my Adam," Belle said to the people in the library, waving at them. Servants waved back excitedly, forgetting again that this was a serious matter.

Adam smiled up at the screen. "You look larger than life, _mon ange_."

"Ladies and gentleman," said Marcel after the gasps and astounded comments faded, "I wanted to show you how things are done in our Magical world, how _we_ use our powers and enchanted Tools to communicate amongst each other. This is usually kept secret. I am _not_ supposed to be showing this off to you- as people who have no magic powers. But I want to do my best to help solve this...unfortunate problem involving your criminal who arrived at the castle last night. What I am doing right now- exposing you to our methods- is a crime in Enchanted society. I _will_ be held accountable by the authorities soon, likely arrested, and I will have to take leave of you. So, anyway...Princess Belle, do you hear me?"

"Monsieur Clement, I hear you. Am I visible to you?" Belle asked.

" _Oui,_ I can see you clearly in bright color, Your Highness. Your dress is blue," said Marcel.

"Ladies and gentlemen...Mademoiselle Emilie, and others," Belle announced from the large paper screen, her voice loud and echoing through the library. "I am here in the dungeon with Gaston Legume."

The image shifted to Gaston, standing behind bars, looking defeated and full of sorrow. Emilie gasped.

As for Gaston, when he saw Belle standing with her back to him, starting to speak to the empty stairway in such a crazy way- addressing her husband and others instead of facing _him_ , he was truly perplexed.

"Belle- who are you _speaking_ to? There's no one here with us," he muttered, having lost all will to shout.

"Gaston," Belle said to him in a surprisingly kind voice, reaching to touch his hand upon the bars- "Your image is being projected by magic in the library, thanks to our sorcerer friend Monsieur Clement. Everyone who's downstairs can see you, and _hear_ you, at this very moment. _Everyone_ wants to hear your story of how you were cursed. Including the Prince. Look over at the doorway. That way, the Magic Mirror will see you better."

"They _can_?" Gaston touched his hair. "That's absurd...do I look all right?" he muttered.

"You look very handsome," said Belle. "This is your moment. You're being shown larger than life, like a great leader. Speak up and express yourself. Tell everyone how you feel. But remember, they say a _real hero_ is one who speaks truth from his heart."

...


	24. The Hearing

Chapter 24- The Hearing

…

"A true _hero_ , you say?" Gaston scoffed at Belle in disbelief. "I'm surprised you would even _think_ of that word pertaining to me."

Belle leaned closer to the iron cell bars, up close and personal with the one man she'd ever hated. She looked him deep in the eyes, lowering her voice so that only _he_ could hear her.

"If there's anything I've learned about people, Gaston, it's that anyone can become a hero if they choose to show love and compassion for others. Emilie has told me that there _is_ kindness, and love, deep inside you. _Not_ some other man with a different name. You! _You_ can keep it alive! _You_ can love Emilie and be the good man she deserves, even if you weren't truly from a Paris slum and your name isn't 'Luc.'"

"You honestly think so?" he whispered, his eyes averting hers. "I'm the man you called a monster."

"You don't _have_ to be a monster," said Belle. "You can become the man Emilie deserves."

"She doesn't deserve me...she deserves the best."

"Then _be_ the best!" Belle whispered to him firmly.

Gaston's throat constricted as he looked to the doorway and the unseen Magic Mirror's eye. He smoothed back his hair again, wiped his beading brow with his sleeve, and spoke in a loud voice.

"Hello? Hello everyone...I want to ask...is Lefou among the people in the library? I want to speak to him. _Lefou!_ Are you out there?"

"No, he isn't with us," Mrs. Potts said, clasping her hands in worry. "Étienne's still sedated from the medicine the doctor gave him. He continues to be our Sleeping Beauty, bless the poor dear."

As Mrs. Potts addressed both Belle and Gaston, her kind voice was heard clearly in the dungeon with the aid of a small, golden metallic device Marcel had given to Belle earlier, which he'd called ' _Son de Voyage_.' The little golden ball was suspended in the air, rising from the stairwell and floating.

Gaston's eyes widened when he saw it, and heard a lady's voice issuing from the strange object. He made an appalled face at Belle.

"What _is_ it with you and this sorcery? Just like the Beast, the mirror, _everything_! It always happened when I was around you, and because of _you_ , the witch started on _me_. Why is that?"

"Gaston, I can't explain it myself," said Belle. "All I know is that the magic changed my life, and Adam's. Perhaps it will change _yours_. And you cannot blame _me_ for this, because if you recall, Agathe was with us in the village. She saw you and...I would imagine she took note of your behavior. I'm actually...not surprised." Belle put her hand over her mouth to suppress a little smile.

"I suppose you think it's _funny,_ don't you? Finding out that I was put under a spell?"

"No." Belle sobered. "I'm sorry she played with your life...and your death. But I'm also happy that she saw you as worthwhile, and just as _important_ a person as Adam is."

"Oh? I suppose." Gaston shrugged, then sighed in distress before speaking loudly to the floating ball. "So...Lefou's still ill? Is Stanley Laurent in the library, then?"

"No, Monsieur." replied Mrs. Potts' voice. "Stanley isn't here with us either. He's with Monsieur Lefou, keeping vigil over him."

"Damn," Gaston swore. "I _never_ meant to cause him more harm. All right, I want to speak to Emilie, if she's there," Gaston decided. "Emilie?"

Emilie stared up at the screen. "Yes. I'm here, but I'm still _confused_ , Luc! I don't know who you are, I don't know whether you're lying or not, and I don't even know what to _call_ you."

"Emilie-" he said hoarsely, now over the absurdity of hearing her voice projected by a floating ball. He focused on it with the hope she could see him looking into her eyes. She could. "If you want to call me Luc, you still can. In fact, I _welcome_ it. My true birth name is Gaston _Luc_ de Soleil Legume." Gaston pronounced the name clearly, emphasizing his second given name, that of a grandfather he'd never known.

"I _wasn't_ born in Paris to a poor family," he continued. "I was born and raised in Villeneuve, the town we passed through on the way to the castle. The memory of it still lingered in my unconscious, even under the Enchantress' curse. You see, the woman I called 'Aunt Agathe' wasn't my aunt at all. She was a witch who used her sorcery to erase my memories. Then she exiled me to Paris, by magic."

"That's part of what you said before," Emilie replied in a calm voice, keeping composure. "Princess Belle believes in the magic, and now that _I've_ seen it…I need to know what happened to you! What happened to make you realize that you _are_ this criminal?"

Gaston rubbed his temple, trying to recall that fuzzy period of time between his brief death and his 'Luc' incarnation. It was hard for him to recall, and thinking about it was difficult. After a lull of a minute or so, he spoke again.

"I think...I think what happened was...she put my real life memories back in my mind after I saw Princess Belle again. In fact, from what I recall, I _know_ she did. She did it to punish me for my cruel and murderous behavior in the past. According to her, my death from the fall wasn't punishment _enough._ She even told me this after she revived me, and restored my broken body. She said...I deserved all of it."

Adam narrowed his eyes as he watched his prisoner onscreen. "When you said that Agathe said you deserved it, do _you_ think she was right?"

"I think that woman was a vile _witch_!" Gaston exclaimed.

"But do _you_ feel you deserved what happened to you?" Belle asked him quietly. "We just want to know how you're feeling. It's _important_."

He shrugged, gazing over at the wall. "I suppose," he whispered.

"Monsieur, what did you say?" Adam asked.

"I said, ' _I suppose,_ '" Gaston said louder.

"What did you suppose?" Adam pressed, his voice firmer.

Gaston looked to Belle with her intense-eyed gaze, then averted his eyes to the wall. "That I deserved it," he whispered.

"Can you say that a little louder, Monsieur?" Adam insisted. "This is your hearing, and repentance makes all the difference. Please say it so I can hear!"

"I DESERVED IT!" Gaston shouted. "I deserve what she did to me, and I _deserve_ your death sentence!" he cried out. "I was an attempted _killer,_ okay? I led a mob against this castle, I shot you, and before that happened I tied Belle's father to a tree and lied about it. And I repent of it all. Just do what you planned to do to me all along."

His voice went hoarse; he punched a cell bar in frustration and then swiped at his eye, even though a tear hadn't completely formed.

"Thank you...for that statement," said Adam quietly. "Do you need a break?"

"No," Gaston whispered. He felt Belle touch his shoulder.

"That was brave of you," she whispered, searching his gaze. He didn't return it.

His heart rate rose at the notion that his fate was being seriously decided. The possibility of a death sentence was real, and he was no longer certain it was what he wanted. This was not merely a confession to Emilie. This was his public plea hearing for the Prince to judge his case.

The thought came to him that Belle had tricked him into this. Then, he realized that he was being given a _chance_. One he didn't deserve.

"Belle, may I be alone for a minute?" he asked her with pained eyes.

"Of course, you may," she said kindly. She backed away and went into the stairwell, away from the Magic Mirror's view.

Gaston took a deep, calming breath, remembering and longing for Lefou to be there, and immediately wishing he hadn't thought of him.

"Your Highness, you have my confession. Do you want me to tell you more about what happened?"

"Yes," Adam replied. "Please go on, Monsieur. Tell me everything about your year under this curse, this forced exile, if you will. I can't promise you freedom yet. But as long as you're my prisoner, I want to hear it _all_."

As he said this, Adam glanced over at his cousin Prince Louis and his lady companion. The two of them lounged on a chaise, looking entertained and amused. Apparently, this was all some great, three-ring circus, put on just for them. 'Awkward' could not even describe their presence in this place.

Adam focused his attention back on his prisoner. "Monsieur Gaston, are you ready to tell more of your story, or do we need a break?"

"I need a break, actually," said Prince Louis. "I could use one of the maids to bring me a brandy."

Adam gave his cousin a disgusted look. "Go get your _own_ bloody brandy!" he yelled. Louis walked out of the library with a petulant huff.

Adam focused back on the screen to listen to Gaston. "I apologize, Monsieur. Go on. Excuse... _that_ ," said Adam, gesturing to the door.

"That was Prince Louis, wasn't it? Do I _have_ to excuse that man?" Gaston asked. "I mean, I _do_ know him...I don't like him very much."

He recalled how he'd been treated by Louis when he was struck by one of Agathe's curse-pains in the forest on that foxhunt. Fortunately, Marquis Antoine had cared about his well-being and acted to help.

Adam smiled a little. "I see that you and I found something in common. _Besides_ Agathe, of course."

Gaston nodded cordially. "I suppose. Well...to continue, Your Highness, I didn't ask for this. Sorcery frightens me. I never knew _anything_ about curses or magic. All I know is that the last year was...a _false_ life, with false memories. Emilie?" - he addressed her- "As I said before, the _real_ me was raised in privilege, not poverty. My father was a wealthy merchant and owner of the tavern and inn. _That_ was the building I recognized on the carriage ride."

Emilie focused on his face on the screen, listening with growing curiosity. "Are your parents still alive?" she asked him. For her, it was like meeting him all over again.

"No, Emilie. Just like Luc, my parents died when I was at a young age. I was an orphan by thirteen, on my own. The only adult who looked after me was my household maid, a kind lady named Jeanne. Her son, Étienne Lefou, was my lifelong friend. He and I joined the army at seventeen and fought in the Seven Years' War."

Emilie gasped. "The war dreams you told me about! They were real memories?"

"Yes," said Gaston. "That was my real _life_ , Emilie."

"And the boy in the dreams, the one you betrayed, was your friend Lefou?"

"Yes. And because of my shocking appearance in the castle the other night, back from the _dead_ , he fainted when he saw me and injured himself. All my fault."

Emilie felt emboldened. "I hope he gets well. But what about the horned beast, then? What did it represent? Your own personal demons and evil side?"

Gaston sighed and wiped his brow again. "No, no...Emilie, I doubt you'll believe this, but the horned Beast is there with you in the library. I wish him long life and health-" he raised his voice dramatically and touched his chest in sorrow- "And I _deserve_ all wrath and corporal punishment he chooses to sentence upon me! I'm willing to _die_ for my actions a second time-"

Prince Adam cut him off.

" _Gaston!_ I'm here to listen to your confession, but do _not_ make assumptions of me, and do _not_ assume yourself to be a tragic martyr because of what happened. It is _very_ unbecoming!" he declared firmly.

Emilie's gaze left the screen, turning to the young husband and master of this grand castle. Of course, it _had_ to be him. The romantic rival Gaston had tried to kill was the 'beast' figure Luc had dreamed of, likely demonized in his mind for winning Belle's heart.

And the young woman in the dreams who'd admonished him? Princess Belle herself, the beautiful girl Gaston once desired and pursued.

"Your Highness?" Emilie addressed Adam shyly. "You were the 'beast' he dreamed about. I understand you were enemies...and I wish we could have met under better circumstances...I'm sorry."

Her intimidation fell away at his kind gaze. The fair haired man bore a family resemblance to the haughty Prince Louis, who'd just returned to the room holding drinks. In contrast, Adam seemed more caring and down to earth. Still a commanding leader, but with an air of good humor about him. His eyebrows raised in teasing amusement, followed by a sheepish little smile and a ' _here I am!'_ gesture of his hands.

"It's a long story. But don't be sorry, mademoiselle," he told her.

Emilie looked back to the screen and caught view of Belle, who had moved farther from Gaston near the stairwell. She, too, had a little knowing smile on her face.

"Just as I said. _A long story_." she affirmed.

"Your Highness Adam," Emilie continued, "I'm just relieved that...his attempt on your life wasn't successful."

She turned to the pained eyes of the man she'd been hoping to marry. They were filled with sorrow and remorse.

Gaston addressed Adam. "And I'm _also_ relieved that you're alive, Your Highness. You won our battle fair and square. So...do what you will," he added after a pause, his words and bearing soft and low with despair. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb.

"It sounds as if you suffered plenty of punishment with your ordeal as it was," Adam reasoned. "Agathe _claims_ to be a benevolent Enchantress, but...I'm starting to be concerned about the fact she continues to use her magic in such...life-altering ways. Yes, she made _me_ a kind and loving man, but-"

He let his words trail. "But Agathe is not _here_ to plead her case. _You_ are. Monsieur Gaston, what _else_ did you do and experience during this year you were presumed dead? I know you met Emilie, of course, and you were sent back here to face Belle and me, but what _other_ challenges did you face while in Paris?"

"I had _great_ challenges to overcome," said Gaston, the timbre of his voice raising to a more confident level as he remembered his good works. "Poverty, trying to take care of my old 'aunt' Agathe, who in hindsight used _my_ backbreaking labor to fund her schemes! Then, I was overcome by a bout of smallpox, which I now think may have been _her_ fault! I had scars on my face. Unsightly scars which made me feel ugly…I did _not_ want to be ugly." He frowned, recalling the misery.

"So I was ugly as well?" Emilie called out. "I had smallpox scars, did you forget?"

" _No_! That's not true, Emilie," Gaston said, taken aback with guilt. "I never meant _you_. I know you had scars too, but I barely saw them. I saw your beauty, inside and out. Please believe me!"

"Good heavens," Mrs. Potts interjected, looking at Emilie. "The girl appears to have no scars anymore, and neither does he. Smallpox scars are supposed to last a lifetime! We've always feared that terrible disease, Jean and I."

"One of the servants on the estate- he healed us with his medicine," said Gaston, recalling Aloysius. "Your Honor- Marquis Antoine, are you there? If you hear me, tell me. You remember Aloysius, our dishwasher? It was _him_! He made a drink with apple cider, and when Emilie and I drank it, our scars went away."

"I'm here. And yes, of course," said Marquis Antoine. He and his wife had been quiet for all this time, trying to overcome their horror at all the magic around them. "We were _very_ amazed by your miraculous recoveries. Who was this man, this...dishwasher? Was he also... _magic_?"

"It was Aloysius Guérisseur!" Marcel Clement interjected, his voice now at a normal, un-enchanted level. "The mention of apple cider makes me think of him. He's the most skilled potions expert in all Magical France. I was planning to contact him-"

At Marcel's words, a ball of glowing white light appeared in the library, right below the immense screen showing Belle and Gaston. Within the ball of light, a man's face formed- that of Aloysius Guérisseur. People gasped.

Evangeline screamed in fright, spilling her drink on the floor. " _Mon Dieu,_ it's a ghost! Louis, I want to leave!"

"Please do not be afraid," said Aloysius' face. "I'm not a ghost, I'm only a projection of a living Magical man. For Merlin's sake _,_ Marcel, I told you _not_ to summon me when innocent _Sans-Magies_ are present!"

"I'm sorry," said Marcel, looking chagrined. "When I said your name, I didn't realize it would trigger the Summons."

"Well, it did, my dear boy. Right in the middle of dinner. _Luc_! Do you hear me?" Aloysius called out.

"Yes," said Gaston. "Your voice sounds familiar, but I can't see you from up here. And in case you don't know, that's not my name."

"It's me, Aloysius. I worked in the kitchen. You also knew me as the apple peddler in your neighborhood. I was _both_ men. I only changed my appearance to different ages. I have the same abilities as my cousin Agathe, though I'm much more mellow than she is."

" _Bonjour_ , Aloysius," called Gaston, waving to his old friend though he didn't see him. "Thank you for making that medicine for Emilie and I to drink. I can never thank you enough for healing us."

"It wasn't merely medicine, ladies and gentlemen," Aloysius' projection declared. "It was a special, healing, love potion. Luc- or whatever his real name may be- and the young lady Emilie were both healed the moment when they shared true love's kiss!"

"True love's kiss?" Gaston said, his amazed expression visible to all in the library. "That makes perfect sense!" His face lit up in a beaming smile in remembrance.

"Do you mean it?" Emilie asked, tears welling in her eyes at the bittersweet memory. "Or was it all faked as well?"

"No, it wasn't fake! I _do_ truly love you, Emilie. And I always will. Whether my name is Luc, or Gaston. Nothing about my feelings have changed, do you understand?" he implored. "Emilie, answer me, _please_!"

"I'm here, Gaston," said Emilie, using his real name on her own accord for the very first time. "And I do believe you. I didn't know you back then, I only know who you are now. And perhaps I can get to know the real you better. But I need _time_."

"Thank you," Gaston said in a barely audible whisper. He glanced down at Belle, who sat in the stairwell with her hands clasped, trying to suppress a smile.

"May I have some privacy, please, Bel- _Your Highness_?" he asked her. " _Complete_ privacy?"

Belle nodded solemnly and left the dungeon, going downstairs. The _Son de Voyage_ ball remained floating next to Gaston's cell.

Down in the library, the projection of Aloysius smiled. "My work here is done. _Adieu_ , everyone!" He vanished, much to the relief of the disturbed crowd. Marcel waved a casual goodbye, as if this happened every day.

There was a long lull of silence then, a few of the servants mumbling among themselves. Adam stood up, glanced at the projected image of a solemn Gaston, and turned his back to face the fireplace. He paced up and down a few steps as he tried to make a tentative decision about his prisoner.

During this time, Belle walked into the library, panting a little from her run down flights of steps. She rushed to her husband and the couple embraced tenderly.

"I think he's truly remorseful. He's changed so much," she whispered to him. "I want to show him mercy. It's only fair."

"He does have love in his heart," Adam whispered back. "And to be honest, I don't care to have him here in our castle for very long. But I want him to feel as if he paid for his crimes, _mon ange_." He kissed the top of Belle's head, and looked back to the screen.

"Well...Gaston," Adam began, "this was very interesting from what I've heard so far. As the Prince, I've decided not to sentence you to death. I certainly don't want to kill you. I see a caring soul and a repentant heart in you. Unlike my wife, I may have even assumed you were having a bad day when you came to the castle to battle me. Belle, my love- what is _your_ feeling?"

Belle looked up at the man she'd despised with new light. "I wouldn't want such a thing to happen, either. He deserves life just as anyone. Gaston, we see love in your heart. I wish you to be free."

Gaston closed his eyes in relief. Emilie was what made all the difference. She still cared, he still had a chance. He no longer wanted to be hanged, nor thrown from a balcony.

"Thank you, Your Highness," he whispered in relief.

"So...this is my tentative decision," said Adam. "I still wish to hold you in custody for at least...a month or two. Gaston, since you're here, I want you to use this time to make amends with others, either by written letters or face-to-face meetings. I want you to make a formal apology to my father-in-law Maurice, who was your secondary charge of attempted murder. And also to my servant Monsieur Lefou, when he awakens and recovers. If he's _willing_ to see you of course. He may be rather shaken."

Gaston sadly turned to face the back wall of his cell. He wanted to speak to Lefou as soon as possible, but then again- he didn't. Their friendship was forever dissolved. He would much rather live with the memories.

Adam concluded his sentencing announcement. "And after some time to be determined, you are free to go wherever you wish. We need to learn more about your curse, because we have to work out Agathe's fate with the Magical authorities. They'll decide her case."

Adam then gestured to his own chest with a resigned sigh. "Part of my curiosity was because my household and I suffered ordeals by her, just as _you_ did. So for the time being, you _will_ remain in the dungeon as our prisoner. One month, at least. We'll try to make your accommodations a bit more tolerable."

Lumiere leaned into his wife's ear to whisper. "He _won't_ be our guest, however."

"Oh, come now, _mon chere_ ," Plumette replied, grasping her husband's hand. "Keep an open mind. _Love_ , remember?"

"But of course." He pulled her hand up to kiss it.

Gaston was more than relieved that he would eventually see freedom. He'd wanted so badly to leave right away, with Emilie and the rest of his new friends- back to that cursed, exiled life he'd turned around and made good. But that was impossible, in light of what happened. Adam couldn't let him go without some sort of atonement.

He could be locked in the dungeon for a month or so, if it meant being with Emilie for many years.

"Emilie? Can you still hear me?" he said to the golden ball.

"Gaston Luc...I promise to visit you everyday," she answered. "But only if I'm allowed to remain here for a while. Your Honor, is it all right? Or shall I go back home with you and wait?" she implored of Marquis Antoine.

"You may if you wish," the Marquis agreed. "I can give you a leave of absence. However, it is a very long journey back to Paris. It's up to _you_ to find your own transport when and if you return."

"I wish I could help you with that," Marcel interjected. "But...that might not be possible."

"I'll manage," said Emilie, smiling.

"Emilie-" Gaston called out- "after I'm released here, I don't want to live anywhere near Villeneuve, if you're thinking of staying."

"I'm not. I plan to go home," she replied. "My family is there."

"Good. That village is part of my past that I'd rather forget," said Gaston. "I would much rather stay near Paris when I'm released. No matter what, I'll always be waiting for you. Time has no constraints on me. I'm getting older. I wasted my youth. And so I demand only the _best_ kind of love, one that's real. I'm a lucky man, too, because I found it. With _you_ , my Emilie."

After he spoke, he stared hard at the little gold ball which carried his words to her. His eyes stung as he gripped the cell bars with white knuckles. He couldn't see her face, it was torture.

Her answer came soon.

"I need time...time to get to know you again. But I will wait for _you_. I do love you... _still_ ," said Emilie, her eyes welling up. Upon hearing her words, Gaston's chest swelled with relief.

Emilie looked to Princess Belle, now holding her husband's hand. "I can't believe I made such a confession in public," she said, blushing.

"You did wonderfully," Belle said to her. "You learned to love someone who was unlovable at first meeting. Not everyone can do so, and I wish you all the happiness. ' _Hourly joys be_ _still upon you_. _Juno sings her blessings upon you_!'" she declared cheerfully.

"Who is 'Juno?'" Emilie asked.

Adam shook his head. "You never fail to amaze me, Belle. _The Tempest_?"

"It's my new favorite. Well, _second_ favorite!" she replied with a smile.

"Merci," Emilie said, wiping her eyes. "I _am_ very happy. And I wish my blessings on all of you in this castle."

The mood in the library lightened. Evangeline and Prince Louis began to clap, as if this were a spectacular theater production. Jean and Clémence Paquet were also witnesses to the hearing in the library. They were outraged at first, then worried and scared, and now celebrating. Clémence was crying in Jean's arms.

"Well, that concludes our hearing," said Adam to everyone. "Gaston, you can be on your own for now. Monsieur Clement, you may turn off your Magic Mirror and put my books back on the shelves. Thank you so much for your help."

"You're welcome," said Marcel cordially. He waved his wand, and Gaston's projected image quickly vanished from the screen. A blue ball of light soared to the Mirror that Marcel held in his left hand. The screen itself dismantled into hundreds of books, which flew about before settling back into their shelves.

Marcel put away his Magic Mirror and wand, stuffing them into his coat pockets. After a group of servants filed out, he sat down on one of the empty chairs, his head in his hands. Belle noticed the man looking distressed. She supposed that it had something to do with his part in Agathe's case.

The entire library went dim in the evening light. Lumiere and Plumette rushed to light some candle fixtures. After the task was done, Plumette went to sit next to her younger brother, her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Is there anything I can help you with, _petit_?"

" _Non_ , Jacinta. I'm sorry. I will need to be leaving soon," Marcel replied sadly. "I'm in serious trouble," he whispered.

...

Gaston sat on a small stool in his cell. He slowly drank the rest of the jug of water that the guard had left earlier that morning. He was hungry, but he couldn't eat any more of the nasty stale bread.

He couldn't believe he'd been pardoned. He couldn't believe that Belle had been on his side. She'd been encouraging, almost friendly- though she was as vexing to him as ever.

And there was now hope that he and Emilie could be together, and they could live as they'd been living before.

Now, he had to endure sitting idle and waiting. Sitting and waiting for things to happen had _always_ been hard for Gaston. On the battlefield, on the hunt, and in life.

…


	25. Enchanted War and Agathe's Remorse

Chapter 25- Enchanted War and Agathe's Remorse

…

After Gaston's hearing ended, Emilie sought out Jean and Clémence. She found them sitting in a quiet corner, and they rushed to give her hugs of support. All of the mixed emotions the young couple struggled with the previous day and during the hearing were unleashed that moment. Clémence was in full tears, and Jean was on the verge, his eyes bloodshot, running his hands through his hair in agitation.

"This shocks me beyond all belief!" he said a fierce whisper. "I mean, ever since I've known him the last year he's had kind of a _crazy_ streak. But...I _can't_...I just can't _fathom_ all this! Attempted murder? Tying the Princess' father to a tree for wolves? Shooting the Prince _?_ I feel like we never _knew_ him."

"I still can't believe he _did_ all those terrible things," Clémence said, wiping her eyes. "I don't know if I can ever _think_ of him the same."

"He's not the same. It sounds like he confessed, and repented, but when he started talking about his magic curse and how that woman Agathe controlled him like a puppet and 'brought him here'- that doesn't make sense! We all came here because His Honor the Marquis was invited to the Prince's party. He came willingly. Nothing makes _sense_!"

"Jean," Clémence said, getting over her tears and trying to calm her angry husband, "Why don't we visit him and _talk_ with him about these things?"

"I know we should, but I still feel like he's been lying to us all this time. I don't understand."

" _Jean,_ honey," said Clémence, laying her hand gently on her husband's arm,"The Prince and Princess forgave him and they only sentenced him a month in the dungeon. He won't be going home with us. I think we should at least wish him well and try to understand. He's still our friend."

" _Luc_ was my friend," said Jean. "He wasn't even _real._ This Gaston? I never would have been friends with someone who committed acts like that."

Jean left the the library, Clémence joining him. Emilie knew that Jean simply felt the same as she had at first. She couldn't blame him. Jean, Clémence, and Adelaide would be leaving the castle with the Marquis and his family the next day.

Emilie planned to stay with Gaston. She'd worry about getting home later. In the meantime, she would gladly help the servants in their tasks; she'd already formed a friendship with the Potts family. Little Chip could always use someone to mind him.

"Mademoiselle Emilie?"

Marcel came up beside Emilie in the library, breaking away from his sister and brother-in-law to approach her.

"Hello, Monsieur Clement! Thank you for helping with the hearing by using your enchantments. It helped Adam and Belle with communication, and for us to watch and listen," she told him graciously.

"You're welcome. Emilie. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure! If you're wondering if any of us were scared of the magic, yes. A few people were! But most of us got used to it," Emilie said lightly.

"Oh, yes that's understandable!" laughed Marcel. "But I wanted to ask- if you see your sister tonight, could you give her my best wishes and farewells? I...well, the truth is...she befriended me during the trip here, and even though I haven't _known_ Adelaide for long, I was very touched by her...her joy, her smile...Send her my fond wishes, won't you?" He looked to be a bit bashful, fidgeting with the Magic Mirror he was holding.

"Monsieur Clement, I haven't seen her the last few hours," Emilie said, noting Adelaide's absence at both the hearing and luncheon. "She wasn't with us for that nice meal earlier, which is _very_ unlike her! Normally, if there's desserts within a mile, she'll sniff them out and bring two plates." She laughed softly.

"Really? I looked for her in the dining room, too. I didn't see her."

"Evangeline said she went outside for some fresh air. But Marcel- Addie was one of the people who became scared when everyone was just _talking_ about magic curses. That means- she doesn't know about _you_ yet! Are you going to let her know about your...abilities?"

He sighed. "I don't know. It doesn't matter anyway, since I-" His words trailed with another sad sigh as he and Emilie walked out into the hallway together. "If she doesn't show up soon, maybe we could look for her outside," he suggested.

"Could you help me look for her _now_?" Emilie asked.

"Yes- of course I can."

When they were in a private corner of the hallway, Marcel took his Mirror out of his pocket. "I suppose...since I'm already in too deep with my antics today, why not? What's one _more_ violation?" he said with a bit of woeful humor.

"Violation? What do you mean?" Emilie asked, the question ignored by the Enchanter. He stared with concentration into his Magic Mirror.

"Show me Mademoiselle Adelaide," he whispered.

"Do you see her yet?"

"Oh no," Marcel said in shock once Adelaide and her whereabouts appeared in his Mirror.

"Is she ill? Is she _hurt_?"

"She's _crying._ Just sitting and crying, poor thing...I think she's sitting outside by water? A riverbank?"

"Let's go!" Emilie exclaimed. She and Marcel rushed outside and down the stone staircase. It was now late afternoon, around five. The servants were beginning to prepare another delicious dinner, and perhaps _that_ might coax Addie back to the castle if she were upset about something.

"Emilie," Marcel said, "I think it's best I find her myself. She doesn't look like she's hurt, just very sad. But if I need to use magic outside this castle...I'd rather there be as _few_ innocent witnesses as possible. In case...well, I _promise_ I'll find her." Marcel sounded as if he were evasive or worried about something. Whatever it was, it wasn't Emilie's business.

"Are you _sure_ you're all right with using the Magic Mirror to find her?" she asked.

"Yes. I may as well. The Mirror can locate Adelaide faster, and I'll get to her within minutes."

"All right. Please find her as soon as you can, Monsieur Clement," Emilie said. "If she's upset, please tell her I'll talk to her!"

…

"Lorette? _Lorette!"_

Adelaide meandered through the castle grounds, calling for her cat. She hadn't wanted to bring her into the castle, it was huge and she would've been lost there. Adelaide had searched through the entire carriage, but the cat had escaped.

She wanted to cry. This was _supposed_ to have been a wonderful trip, the chance of a lifetime, attending a Prince's birthday party. Instead, minutes after they had walked into the ballroom, Monsieur Luc was mistaken for a criminal, chased off and whisked to the dungeon! Poor Emilie had been devastated.

At least Princess Belle had taken Emilie into the West Wing to hear _her_ side of the story. Perhaps this would all be settled by tomorrow. A simple case of mistaken identity. The Prince would let Luc go, and they could all head back on the journey home tomorrow.

Unfortunately, Adelaide was becoming plagued with doubts and suspicions about Luc. She wasn't even certain if Monsieur Luc was 'Monsieur Luc' anymore. The notion that her friend was a mad assassin who'd shot the Prince had been absurd. _However- s_ he couldn't get over the way Princess Belle had looked at Luc. With condemnation and fury. Telling him his 'vile and disgusting schemes' wouldn't work. It raised suspicions that Adelaide didn't want to face.

Adelaide had argued on Luc's behalf, trying to defend him at first. But on this day, the more people she encountered and the more pitiful looks she received, the more she realized that her sister's love may have been living a double life after all.

Weird talk of magic and spells and curses in the castle disturbed her. While she was with Evangeline earlier, they'd encountered one of Adam's party guests running through the hallway like a maniac, yelling that the library was haunted. He said books were flying out of the shelves, soaring through the air.

That was the last straw. Adelaide left the castle then and began to wander outside. The rose gardens were beautiful, the statues and fountains a joy to walk through. She had gone back to the closed coach to check on little Lorette- and the cat was missing.

Adelaide, taking a guess where the curious kitten would have gone, walked out to the river flowing through the forest. The recent rains had made it flow fresh, bubbling in rapids along rocks. She followed the river's grassy bank, calling Lorette's name.

After walking a long distance from the castle, Adelaide spotted something at the edge of the water. Something beige-yellow in color, and small. Adelaide drew closer.

It was a kitten. Soaking wet, lying face down. Its little tail moved and bobbed with the rushing water, but its head was lodged between some rocks.

" _Lorette!"_

Adelaide screamed with horror as she scooped her pet into her arms. Lorette was cold, soaked, and lifeless.

She was gone. Lured away by naive feline curiosity and thirst for adventure.

Adelaide burst into tears, blaming herself for the loss. If _only_ she'd gone to check on her earlier, or brought her into the castle and kept an eye on her there!

She held the wet little creature for what seemed like ages, grieving. Her new friend and latest crush Marcel had given her this pet. It had been such a sweet thing for him to do. If she saw him again, she couldn't forgive herself for allowing this to happen.

" _Mademoiselle Adelaide_!" a man's voice called out. "Emilie sent me to search for you! Are you all right?"

She turned to see the man she'd hoped to talk to again- but not like this. Grief and guilt kept her from wanting to answer him as she sat on the riverbank. It was a lovely summer day, the leaves whispering in the breeze, the water rushing.

Marcel sat next to her with a look of compassion. "Adelaide, what's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help you?" he asked.

She held the body of Lorette to her chest, gazing out at the bubbling rapids before admitting the truth.

"Lorette...she _drowned_! She escaped and ran away and now she's dead!" Slowly, she held out the soaked, lifeless animal in the cup of her hands, sobbing. "Marcel, I'm so sorry! I should have been looking after her better!"

"Oh, _petit_ ," he said softly. "Please don't blame yourself. I'm very sorry." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let her lean against him. She lay the kitten carefully in the grass- such a tiny, short life. Marcel now felt like a fool for having transformed that beetle into a cat in the first place.

But it had been worth it. It was worth seeing her so bubbly and happy to receive an unexpected gift from him. And now, as she allowed him to hug her and hold her close, to share in her heartbreak for a little animal, it seemed almost worth it as well.

His conscience screamed to pull away from her, keep a physical and emotional distance. ' _She's off limits,'_ it commanded. Adelaide was a _Sans-Magie,_ and he had no business doing what he was doing, just as he had no business doing what he was about to do.

Overcome with wanting to make her smile again, Marcel took his magic wand out of his trousers pocket. Adelaide sat crying with her face nestled against his shoulder. Without her seeing, his other arm wrapped around her soft body, he touched the wand tip against the dead kitten's head.

Within moments, the little cat began to twitch and move. He watched Lorette's tiny dead eyes open and regain a spark of life, the soaked fur dry to a fluffy golden-beige again, the tail to start swaying.

"Adelaide?" he mumbled into her hair, his heart rate rising with worry. Would she be accepting? Would she be horrified? Did it even matter, since he couldn't be with her in the first place?

"What?" came her stuffed-up reply. Lorette gave a demanding little 'meow.'

Adelaide jerked her head away from his shoulder and saw the cat creeping into the long grass, right back towards the tempting water.

" _Lorette_!" she screeched, her cry almost burning Marcel's ears with its high pitch. She scooped the cat into her arms in desperation, and Marcel saw Lorette struggle in protest, even leaving a scratch on Adelaide's forearm. It drew a little blood, but the woman was much too caught up in joy and awe to mind.

"She's _alive_? How? How did this happen? Oh, _Mon Dieu_ , Lorette, you naughty, _naughty_ little thing! You scared me! Never, _ever_ do that again!" Adelaide babbled, crying and laughing all at once. "Oh, Marcel, her heart is _beating_ again, and how in the name of heaven did this _happen_?"

Adelaide searched Marcel's eyes as she hugged her pet close to her chest once more, now in giddy, confused joy.

"What's wrong?" she said as she saw that his expression was troubled.

"I did it."

"You did _what_?"

"I revived her. I brought Lorette back to life. I...I used _this_."

With a guilty expression as if he were a child caught in a candy jar, Marcel showed her the wand. It was made of smooth wood, nine inches long with a handle carved in intricate scrolls.

"I used magic."

"But magic is only supposed to be silly trickery, Marcel. You can't _really_ bring a dead animal back to life, and I _hope_ that you d-"

"Adelaide," he cut in. "Please, listen. I actually _can_. I'm an Enchanter."

Lorette meowed again. Adelaide pulled out of his arms, scooting away with a frown of reproach.

"It's the truth." He gave the wand a flick, and a bouquet of fragrant red and white roses appeared in his other hand.

" _Oh my God_!" she screamed. "How d-did you _do_ that?"

"My powers. Please don't be scared. It's something I've always been able to do. I won't harm you. There are others you've met who have magical powers, just as I do."

Adelaide's eyes were round as saucers as she cradled her warm kitten, feeling Lorette's little heartbeat and staring at Marcel in disbelief.

" _Who_?"

"Do you remember Aloysius, who made a drink that your sister and...um, Monsieur Luc drank?"

"Yes," she whispered. "He healed them. That was magic?"

"Oui."

"How do you know him?"

"He and I belong to the same society. the Society of people born with Magical abilities."

"But I don't understand. You and he seem like such ordinary people! And...what about Luc's aunt? Agathe? People in the castle were accusing her of casting spells on him. I thought it was all craziness."

"I sometimes wish it _was_ , Adelaide. I honestly do," Marcel said with a sober expression. "It's not all fun and games and 'abracadabra.'"

"How do you learn to do it?" Her fear was slowly turning into intrigue. She glanced down at the lovely bouquet of roses.

"I'd like you to have these, by the way," Marcel said with a shy smile. "And so would Lorette." He held the roses out to her and she took them; smelled them. Normal, fragrant roses.

"Thank you...how can I ever thank you for bringing her back to life?"

"No thanks needed, _petit._ It isn't difficult because I was born with the powers through my family line. Most of my family are Enchanters, except for Jacinta- _Plumette_. She was considered a 'Defective' and decided to live in your society when she grew up. While I had to learn all the refined skills and spell work in school. An Enchanted school. Many fond memories," he said with a laugh.

"Really?"

" _Oui_! I played the best sport on earth- the most exciting game you can imagine."

"What kind of game?" Adelaide asked, her eyes shining with joy as she cradled Lorette in her arms.

Marcel glanced around the riverbank and forest with caution and worry. No one had come for him...yet. For now, he just wanted to make these moments last.

"We flew on brooms," he replied with a fond smile. "Hitting balls around, almost like lacrosse in a way. Except _,_ well, flying instead of running. My team won the school's championship the year I was sixteen."

"I don't believe it," Adelaide laughed. "I'd like to _see_ you fly a broom. I usually picture ugly old All-Hallow's-Eve witches doing that. Not men who are...like _you_ ," she said, her cheeks heating up.

"Perhaps someday," Marcel said, his teasing smile mirroring hers. "And if you do, then I'm going to expect _you_ to take a ride on a broom with me. Far up near the clouds."

"Oh my goodness, _no_! I couldn't. I'm terrified of heights!" Adelaide exclaimed.

"You won't be frightened. I would ride it so gently that even Lorette could perch atop the broom with us. Promise."

" _Really_?"

"I swear on King Arthur's sword!"

"Over Paris, maybe?"

"That would be amazing!" Marcel exclaimed giddily, before his face fell in doubt. "I only wish-"

"Wish what?"

"That I had _time_ to do such a thing with you."

Lorette squirmed in Adelaide's grip. Adelaide loosened her hold and let the kitten scramble over to Marcel's knee where she settled, curling into a furry ball.

"You rescued her from that tree, so she must see you as your Papa," Adelaide said cheerily. She reached down to pet Lorette with her free hand. Marcel made the motion to pet her as well- a gesture which caused him to touch and caress Adelaide's hand. He quickly pulled it away.

"Sorry," he said with chagrin.

"There's no need to be sorry," said Adelaide, taking a deep breath to control her fluttering heart. "She's too small for both of our hands to fit over her, that's all. You're not improper." She collected the cat into her arms again.

Marcel realized right then that he wanted _out_.

There was a way, in fact. It came in the form of a punishment he was already due- but it came with a risk.

A loud _'crack!'_ sound pierced the air at that moment. The pleasant nature sounds of the river, the birdsong, and the rustling leaves silenced. Adelaide gave a little startled cry, and Lorette squirmed.

A man appeared out of nowhere. He was a youngish fellow of about thirty, fair haired and bearded with intense eyes, wearing a black suit and cloak. Adelaide recognized the man. Wasn't he the other coach driver on the way to the castle? The one who drove Marquis Antoine and his family here?

"Monsieur Sauvageon," Marcel said quietly as he stood up to face his chief officer. "I was expecting you."

Alexis Xavier Sauvageon's eyes were cold and condemning. "You know exactly why I'm here, correct?"

"Yes," Marcel whispered. "I know. And I admit I had no right doing those things."

"Out of all the people I've trusted, Clement, _you_ \- my best agent and worker- decided to betray me with not only one infraction of the law, but at _least_ seven! Do you realize all the Laws of Exposure have you broken over the last two days?"

Calmly, Marcel began to list his infractions.

"Number nine- resurrection of dead creatures, be they natural or Magical. Number six- performing ostentatious acts of magic in front of a group of _Sans-Magies_ for the purpose of amazing them. I did that at least _twice,_ Monsieur. Number thirteen- using my powers to assist _Sans-Magie_ courts of law or government. Number thirty-one, clause B- transfiguring one creature into another in order to impress a _Sans-Magie._ Number thirty-nine, clause C- preparing food by Magical means in front of a group of _Sans-Magies_. I helped the cooks make breakfast this morning, you see. Number forty- using my Mirror in sight of a _Sans-Magie_ to locate people." He gulped and swallowed. "I think that's all, Monsieur."

Sauvageon took several steps toward him. Adelaide sat watching, shocked and frightened. The man took a magic wand out of his coat pocket and held it out to Marcel's temple, a scowl on his face.

"I _don't_ think that's all, _mon garçon_. You know that I can read your mind."

"Yes," said Marcel. "You are a _Lecteur d'Esprit,_ it's why you're such an effective officer-"

"So who's the girl?"

"Adelaide? She's a friend-" He winced at the wand being jabbed to his temple.

"You have feelings for this _Sans-Magie_? Have you defiled yourself with her?"

" _What_? No! I haven't _touched_ her! Well, I _hugged_ her, just earlier because-"

" _Quiet!_ I know you're telling the truth." Sauvageon turned and fixed Adelaide with a harsh look. "Take your cat and go back to that castle, girl. Go away!"

"No I won't. Leave him alone!" Adelaide shouted, advancing towards the men. "I don't _care_ about your stupid laws. Sure, I'm not one of you, but that doesn't mean Marcel can't use his gifts in kind ways to help people! And animals! I sure hope that lady Agathe casts the absolute _nastiest_ curse on-"

" _Shut up_!" Sauvageon yelled, enraged. He flicked his wand at Adelaide and caused a small but stinging cut to appear on the flesh of her upper arm. She screamed, droplets of blood forming.

"One more word and it'll be your _throat,_ wench!"

Adelaide fought tears as she looked at Marcel, whose eyes were pleading with her to be quiet and obey this man. She did, clutching her struggling cat in her arms and backing away. This other coachman from the journey had _seemed_ like such a quiet, polite man. He'd been hiding his true character.

Sauvageon watched the woman retreating in fear, his gaze and attention off Marcel for a split second. Marcel used it to his advantage- in a swift movement, he drew and pointed his wand at Sauvageon.

A gold beam hit the man, causing ice to form over his skin. Sauvageon began to stumble, his face and body frozen. Marcel shouted out a spell which caused his former boss' wand to fly from his grip. It soared past Adelaide and landed in the river.

"You _got_ him!" Adelaide found herself cheering.

Sauvageon clenched his frozen fists, and a blue glow formed around his body, the ice cracking and melting. He shouted a word which made his wand fly out of the river, back into his hand. He fired a curse at Marcel, who dodged the blue beam and retaliated, hurling another golden beam at Sauvageon.

Adelaide watched in astonishment as the two men battled, gold and blue beams flying, shouting spell words. Some magical phrases were in clear French, but most were of a foreign tongue she didn't know.

" _You_ -" Marcel said in horrified anger as he fought- "You're not a man of law or justice at all! You're a hypocrite who hides behind your lofty position! You're doing...the same Dark deeds you claimed to...fight, and I _will_ take you down someday! Or I'll find someone with more _authority_ who can, I swear!"

"So, Clement," said Sauvageon in a mocking tone, firing blue beams from his wand while Marcel shielded himself with a sort of golden floating disc- "I'm going to be kind. I'm allowing you to _choose_ your sentence. For the number of laws broken…you have two options for punishment. Do you know...what the options are?"

" _Owww!"_ Marcel yelled at the stinging pain of a curse that hit his wand hand after his shield was broken. "Yes, I know them! Either a prison sentence of five years in the _Maison pour Crimes Noirs,_ or lifelong Wand and Mirror loss with expulsion from Magical Society!" he said in a tortured voice.

Sauvageon hit Marcel with a blue beam to the stomach, knocking him to the ground. He rushed up to the man lying defeated and pressed his wand tip against his hairline. "Choose, then! One or the other!"

"Just _please_ don't order me expelled from our Society, or take my wand and Mirror! I have no means of doing anything-"

"So you choose prison?" Sauvageon laughed. "Your wish is granted. A prison sentence it is."

Marcel's face crumpled in anguish. "No! _Please_!" he cried out.

Adelaide's heart sank as she watched this cruel scene play out. She'd been right to dislike talk about magic. It wasn't just 'stupid.' It was _horrible_!

"Thought you could trick me?" mocked Sauvageon. "Of _course_ I knew expulsion was what you wanted! I could hear your inner longings, the fact you've grown weary of our Society, our laws and government. You want to be with _them_!"

"You're correct, Monsieur! I _do_ want to be with them!" Marcel spat with unbridled contempt. " _Le_ _Ministère_ and Magical France have been growing more corrupt for years. You can take our 'Society' and shove it where Bartholomé Bertrand likes his kisses of honor!"

Sauvageon withdrew the wand from Marcel's forehead. He stood and crossed his arms with a sneer. "Now that you've insulted Monsieur Bertrand, we'll add a few years. Your punishment has to be effective. I'll make sure you will never speak to or see a _Sans-Magie_ again. That includes this... _girl_ , and it includes your Defective sister."

"Leave my sister out of this!" Marcel cried. "She has a much better life than I have, or you do! She married a man for _love_ , not because of blood purity and all sorts of-"

To Adelaide's horror, he was silenced by a loud _whoosh!_ sound as the two men vanished.

Blue, glowing haze hung in the air for a second, then faded away. The only sounds Adelaide could hear now were the normal, natural sounds of the rushing river and birdsong.

She stood alone by the riverbank with little Lorette safe and alive in her arms, a bouquet of roses, and the lingering pain of a stinging, bleeding cut. After the shock of what happened sunk in, she rushed back to the castle, her heart crushed.

…

The _Maison pour Crimes Noirs_ was a harsh, unnerving place.

The entire complex was beneath Paris, and could only be entered and exited with an official officer or jailer. Cell blocks made of glass windows instead of iron bars were stacked in rows four stories high.

Prisoners could hear and see each other at all times, allowing no privacy. Magical creatures prowled standing guard outside the cell blocks- giant black cats with great creepy blue eyes, enormous centipede-like creatures that slithered on a hundred bristly legs. Between the stories of cell blocks was a chasm filled with water, teeming with dangerous aquatic creatures- transparent green eels that shocked like lightning, ugly things that looked like driftwood with fins and fangs.

It was there that Alexis Sauvageon placed Marcel Clement in custody, barely saying a word as the two men walked past creatures that tried to jump on them. The great cats were shooed off by Sauvageon's wand. He shocked them with sparks, and the cats growled and cowered away. It was surprisingly kind of the officer.

"I hope and pray that you'll join us!" Marcel declared as the glass door closed and locked on him. Sauvageon walked away.

He sat alone for some time in misery, trying to avoid looking at those monster centipedes and the jeers of the prisoners across the chasm. One of the immense cats strode past on long prowling legs, and he was reminded of the little cat which Adelaide still held and loved this very moment. At least she had something to remember him by.

"Marcel, is that you?" a woman's voice called.

Agathe Sauvageon. The very person he'd set up to be imprisoned here, under Alexis Sauvageon's orders. She occupied the glass cell to his left.

" _Agathe_?"

"I suppose I ought to say...welcome?" she said sadly.

She was in her more youthful form, but her features were shadowed with dark circles and bloodshot eyes. Her skin was pale white, her blonde hair hung limp.

"I suppose you're happy to see me here. Considering my role in your capture." Marcel said as he looked at her painfully, touching the glass door of his cell. He turned away from her. Across the narrow hallway, a big scraggly-haired man locked eyes with him behind another pane of glass. He began to jeer with a maniacal laugh.

" _I'm a werewolf, I'll let you know! Every full moon I break through this glass and bite myself a new Frère d'Armes! You're next!"_ Cheers of wolf-howls from around the cellblock supported his threat.

"My fate isn't entirely your doing, Marcel," said Agathe with a forgiving tone. Both chose to ignore the werewolves for now. "Alexis made you into one of his yes-men, and now you've seen his true darkness."

"He threw a skin-cutting curse at an innocent woman before we arrived here," Marcel said, feeling grateful for the company. He never would have imagined being on Agathe's side weeks ago.

"A _Sans-Magie_ woman?"

"Oui."

"It doesn't matter if officers do such things. Minister Bertrand is open with his hatred of _Sans-Magies_ ," said Agathe. "Our leader turns a blind eye at abuses of power, and I'm sure my nephew Alexis is one of many officers who takes pleasure in mistreatment."

"Agathe, forgive the question, but don't you think you've abused your power in the past? Mistreated a non-Magical? Just an _innocent_ question, mind you. Since you can't harm me through this pane of glass," Marcel said in a polite tone tinged with an edge.

Agathe shook her head, a sting of remorse that he believed she had such capabilities. "I won't harm you. I never truly wanted to harm anyone."

" _Really_?" Marcel pressed.

She recalled the excruciating pain-curses she'd unleashed upon Luc- first in that Paris pub, then the establishment of ill repute, and later when Luc killed both a rat and a fox.

Those curses _were_ legitimately Dark. She'd been desperate to keep Gaston, or 'Luc,' out of trouble at the time. Unfortunately, she gave in to poor choices.

"You _are_ right," she said with regret. "I meddled too much, and...I used too much punitive force. Partly out of a want for power, but also because I felt so much satisfaction transforming bad people into kind, decent ones. I could almost compare it with a naughty child, I suppose. Instead of guiding the 'naughty child,' I swatted his bottom with a stinging rod."

"And you know it was wrong. Although, sometimes naughty children _could_ use a tap on the hand," said Marcel. "You know...my earliest memory has to be my older sister Jacinta Colombe. A 'Defective'- I despise that term! She looked after me when I was little. I misbehaved a lot, using magic because it was fun. I remember her swatting my hands to stop me from flying the broom she was using to sweep with. I must have been four, I could have hurt myself." He laughed sadly. "I will miss her. I think she loved being able to fly like a dove during the curse on the Prince, but-" His expression fell.

"I terribly regret what happened to your sister and the others," said Agathe in a weary voice that sounded more like her 'old hag' form than her true one. "I regret setting up the Bête curse on Prince Adam the way I did. Forcing your sister to become a dead object if he didn't have a declaration of love by the time the rose petals fell."

"I'm glad you have regrets about that," Marcel said darkly. "Do you know anything about my sister besides the fact she's a Defective? When you visited the castle this year, did you get to know any of those servants?"

"I spoke only to Adam and his new wife Belle. Not the staff, I don't know them well. I remember your sister when she was very young, but it was so long ago."

"They are good people. They could have _died_ ," Marcel pressed.

"Is there ever a way you can forgive me?"

"I...I want to, but to be honest, I keep thinking about what would've happened if the curse continued," Marcel admitted.

"I realized my mistake. I tried to make it right, though I waited too long. I corrected it at the last minute. _Please_ understand."

There was a lull in the conversation as Marcel hung his head in thought. "They all lived. They're all happy and well now," he finally said.

"Yes. They are, and we can both be at peace in spite of this. Adam's redemption, your role putting me here. Knowing that we did what we did for a greater good." She sighed with a bit of sad relief. "And here is what I also regret. Once I cast a punishing curse and caused a spoiled, selfish prince to mend his ways and learn to love, I felt a triumph and wanted to do it _again,_ at greater risk! And with an even _worse_ person. And now I'm paying the price. But what tortures me most isn't this prison cell. For me, it's not being certain he stayed redeemed. The prison officers even took away his coat button!" she confided, near tears.

"You mean Gaston?"

"Yes. I dread to think he found his way back to Prince Adam's castle and his curse was broken. If you know whether or not that came to pass- please don't tell me. I want to die hoping that he was changed and redeemed and found love."

"You're a romantic at heart, aren't you?" Marcel asked her.

"I am," said Agathe. "It's my greatest weakness. The desire for happy endings, for _love_ \- combined with my ego and my desperation to _force_ those happy endings. To change people using the power of my wand. Which I no longer have."

"You and I have a lot in common, I guess," said Marcel. "I'm a hopeless romantic, too. Love is one the things which caused me to act irrationally. I'm here for breaking many Exposure laws...a few of them I broke because of a woman."

"I'm sorry for what happened," said Agathe.

"I accept your apology," Marcel replied. "Although I don't have much of a choice, I would rather have a friend in the cell next to me, rather than a foe."

"That's understandable," said Agathe.

"And by the way...I know everything that happened to Gaston. I saw him today."

"I said I don't want to know about him," said Agathe in distress. "Let me live with the peace of ignorance, please."

"Sorry."

There was another sad and awkward lull in their conversation. The werewolf in the cell across from them made rude howling sounds and threats.

 _"Twelve days until the next moon! I will smash this cell apart, then yours! I will taste your luscious flesh! Ahh-whooooo!"_

They both tried to ignore it; his rants seemed nothing but bluff. It was doubtful anyone could break through the thick glass walls.

While they sat in silence, Agathe became overcome with curiosity about Gaston. "How did you see him?" she demanded. "You have no social ties to him, unless...Aloysius! Were you working with Aloysius to monitor Gaston?"

"Sort of- yes. I worked with Aloysius regarding Gaston. Just earlier today, actually."

"I see...that makes more sense."

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to find out what became of Gaston?"

"I don't want to know, if the worst happened!" said Agathe. "What I dread is if his Breakage Clause came to pass. By reuniting with Princess Belle, he would regain his true identity. That would be a disaster for him, for me, and for others. I _don't_ want to learn of it."

"But what if I were to say he is still a good-hearted man, and his true love hasn't left his side?"

"Then I would be happy to hear such," Agathe admitted.

"What if I were to say that _both_ things happened?"

" _Both_?" Agathe cried. "What do you mean, 'both?'"

"I can tell you the whole story if it could help your conscience," said Marcel.

Agathe relented. "You can tell me everything."

...

 _A.N.- Forgive me for this long monster chapter and the hints at crossover. This was more than just Easter Eggs referencing J.K. Rowling's Potterverse. I shamelessly borrowed Potterverse ideas while imagining 18th century magical France._

 _We all know the name of that sport Marcel played! ;) If I used Potter-specific names and terms, I'd feel the need to put this story in the separate crossover archive._


	26. His Closest Compatriot

Chapter 26- His Closest Compatriot

…

Stanley Laurent sat by the bedside of his slumbering friend as evening fell. He had taken all of his sewing and mending projects up to Lefou's and his room for the second day in a row, keeping a close eye on him. Stanley wanted- _needed_ \- to be the first person to speak with Lefou once he gained full consciousness.

The doctor had said it was a concussion. Two nights ago, when Lefou fainted from the shocking sight at the party, Stanley's own gaze had been focused on the unwelcome man who'd entered the ballroom. He'd been asking the same question to himself as the people around him. _Could it be? He can't be alive!_

Stanley recalled a glass of champagne crashing to the marble floor as poor Étienne stumbled and pitched forward. He fell three stair steps, down from the stage platform where he'd been singing with Madame only minutes before. He'd heard the horrible thud as Étienne hit the floor with the right side of his head. When Stanley knelt to examine him, his eyes were glazed over, unresponsive. Not a word, not a groan of pain.

In desperation, Stanley had rushed to pick up and carry his dear friend out of the ballroom with the Maestro, Louis Chapeau, and Pere Robert aiding him. Once he'd heard Adam's angry command to capture Gaston, he left Lefou in the care of the other men and ran like a madman to join the guards, his heart aflame with rage and shock.

Stanley, now the royal tailor under Madame de Garderobe, was one of the only members of the staff to not attend the magically-enhanced 'hearing' in the castle library. The last thing he wanted to see was the image of Gaston on a huge screen trying to defend himself.

Now, as he glanced over for the hundredth time at Lefou, he noticed his eyelids fluttering, struggling to open.

"Étienne?" he said in a soft voice.

The eyes opened wide, their brightness and life returning. Emotion spread over the man's sleepy visage.

"Oh my God. Oh- my- _God_!" Lefou exclaimed.

" _Mon petit_ , I'm _here_. You're okay. It's me, Stanley."

"Gaston was _here!_ That can't be real. He came to the party. Did I dream it, Stanley?" Lefou said breathlessly, gazing up at the ceiling in confusion.

"Shh, shh," Stanley dropped his sewing and went to the bedside, stroking his arm. "You're okay. You'll be fine now. Are you hungry? Want some tea? I'll get you some water."

"Please, water would be great."

Stanley quickly filled a mug of water for his beloved partner, who drank it gratefully and then began to speak in a frantic voice. "Stanley, I saw Gaston! _You_ saw him? Didn't you? Tell me that wasn't real."

Stanley wanted to be evasive. The last thing he wanted was to shock him into further brain damage, and heart damage as well. He continued to attempt distraction.

 _Food_. That would do it.

"Étienne, I...I'm not sure yet...do you want some leftover dinner? Cheese soup and buttered baguettes? Cake? Tea? I'll get Mrs. Potts-"

"Stanley...please. I don't want tea right now. Will you just answer my question, before I get out of this bed and wring your gorgeous neck? Okay?" Lefou's voice was hoarse at first. As he spoke, it cleared up nicely, like a squeaky wheel being oiled.

Stanley was initially overjoyed at the outbursts. Lefou was speaking in full sentences! He had his wits about him still. In fact, the wit was sharp as ever. But so was the stubbornness.

"Did you see him there, or didn't you?" Lefou pressed.

"I...uh, _yes_. I think I saw a man who looked like Gaston, but I'm not sure. It's...it's-"

"What did Master Adam say about the man? How long have I been...sleeping? I remember waking up a few times, and thinking I dreamed about Gaston, but my brain hurt really awful trying to figure it out, so I made myself sleep again. You weren't here every time I woke up. Well, during the night you were but...I didn't want to bother you."

"You were asleep almost three days! And you wouldn't have bothered me at all. You woke up and didn't wake _me_?" Stanley exclaimed.

"Yeah. So, what happened?"

"Uh...er...a lot has happened," Stanley replied haltingly, his body tensing in a cringe.

"Okay...wow. No wonder I feel like this... _ow!_ My head-" Lefou started to sit up in bed, supporting himself with an elbow.

"Étienne! Be careful. Just lie back down in the pillow," Stanley cajoled. "I'm so glad you're awake and you'll be well again soon. Let's just have you rest some more, all right?"

Lefou lay back on his pillow and pressed his palm over the damaged right side of his head, above his ear. "Okay. I'm so...dizzy, Stanley. I feel better when I lie down...thanks."

"Do you want a cloth with cold water? I'll run down to the kitchens. I'll be right back!"

"No, don't go yet!" Lefou called just as Stanley was turning to leave. "You just said a lot has happened...you said you saw someone who looked like Gaston. I could have _sworn_ I saw Gaston alive. Walking into the party wearing a grey suit...and I recall there was a girl at his side? Then...I kinda lost it. So please tell me, was it really _him_?"

"Étienne," Stanley said with a sigh. "It was a difficult situation, very complicated, and I just want you to relax. I'll read you a book, get you something to-"

"I don't _want_ a book read to me," Lefou replied in a petulant voice.

"I'm glad you're better, but right now you're looking and acting like an overgrown four-year-old."

"I don't care. It's _you_ treating me like one. Quit being evasive, Stanley. I want the _straight_ truth about that man that looked a hell of a lot like Gaston! Can you give it to me straight?"

"I-" Stanley faltered, buying time. "I can give it to you as...straight as I can, considering it's _me_ you're talking to."

"Yes, Stanley...as straight as you possibly can. Reach into your inner depths of strength and find the...straightness," Lefou said, still reclined on his pillow. "As difficult as that may be," he added.

Stanley chuckled. "Are you _sure_ about that?"

"No, I'm not," Lefou quipped, a little playful smile appearing on his lips. "Okay, then. Think 'sword.' Do you have your swords?" he asked.

"By the dresser, next to my sewing pile."

"Pick up a sword, and hold it. Feel its virile, manly power. You know. The thing you've been doing all your life," Lefou said wryly. "Because if I'm about to get news that will kill me, I wish to die with my last sight on this earth being _you_ with a sword in your hand, _mon beau_."

"Oh, Étienne, you're not going to d-"

"Please. Grab your sword...and tell me?"

"If you wish." Stanley walked stoop-shouldered over to his collection of swords on his side of the room, next to his other collection of ladies' bonnets and feminine pink garments. He picked up his favorite sword, a shiny rapier that was light and thin enough to whistle when he swished it. He walked back over to Lefou while playing with it, waving and shaking the elegant weapon back and forth. It caused a little breeze to ruffle Lefou's hair.

"Lumiere and Cogsworth and I have fencing matches every Sunday. Do you ever want to join us? It will be more fun with two teams of two," Stanley suggested with a casual tone.

Lefou glared at him. "Stanley. The _truth_!" he spat in impatience.

" _Merde_ , I hate to tell you this!" Stanley said with his ire rising, tension causing the sword to shake in his right hand. "Okay. The truth." He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and took a breath, dropping his sword hand to his side.

"Gaston's up in the dungeon. And it's truly _him_. Gaston himself. The bastard's alive, and he confessed everything."

"Oh my God, oh my God…" Lefou started to babble, putting both hands over his face to shut out the reality.

Stanley set the rapier down on the floor. He rushed to sit on the bed next to his best friend and partner, taking both of his hands and pulling them away to force Lefou to look into his eyes.

" _Look_ at me! We'll get _through_ this!" he pleaded.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God-"

Stanley lightly slapped both of Lefou's cheeks. "Nothing is going to change, damn it! I'm still _here_! Take a deep breath, _mon cher_. Deep breaths."

Lefou took several deep breaths, eyes closed. "Gaston...Gaston's alive. _Gaston_...in the dungeon…"

" _Oui._ It was the Enchantress. It was _her_ , all along. She cursed him, that insane woman!"

"Why?" Lefou asked painfully. "Why would she do something to him? I don't understand. He was supposed to just die, and be in peace. Oh my God! I know I'm going to have to _face_ him again, and I don't know if I can _take_ it!"

A tear formed on the corner of his eye; Stanley saw the little drop fall into his pillow. His partner hadn't cried for at _least_ eight or nine months. He knew then that every protective layer- denial, wry jokes, humor, shock- had been pierced through, and the core of raw pain that Lefou still held deep inside him had been struck.

And Stanley had made _damn_ sure he was there for him when that moment came.

"You don't have to speak or see him," he assured gently, stroking his forehead. "He's serving his sentence up in the tower, and you are _not_ being forced to see him."

"But I _have_ to!" Lefou cried out.

"No, you don't."

" _Stanley!_ "

"Oh God, Étienne, please don't _do_ this!" Stanley rolled his eyes heavenward, then back to his dear friend. " _Don't_ go crawling back to him. Don't make yourself into his martyr again, I _beg_ you-"

"I _have_ to speak to him. Remember what we talked about? Remember what we used to _practice_ together?" Lefou insisted, his tone like that of a pleading little boy's. Another tear formed, in the same eye.

Stanley's heart felt as if it were imploding upon itself.

"That was _hypothetical_! It was all _imagining_!" cried Stanley. "I had you imagine what you'd say if Gaston were sitting right in front of you, yes. And you made a speech, and I pretended I was Gaston listening to you. Of course that's _if_ the horse's ass ever had it in his heart to listen to you! But it was more for _you_ than for him."

"Now I have the chance. Now I can _say_ it." Lefou covered his eyes with one palm, and tried to suppress a sob, mortified that he was reacting this way again. For months he had liked to think that the 'Gaston' part of his heart and memories had been ensconced in solid, tough iron.

But apparently, it was not.

"I- I'll take that cup of tea, now." he said to Stanley, wheezing.

Stanley's dark eyes averted from Lefou's, a look of harsh anger and contempt in them. He turned and stalked out of the room with a stiff gait, his hands in his pockets.

...

The next morning, Gaston awoke on his wool blanket in the dungeon cell to footsteps of someone coming upstairs. Surely it was M. Boutin, coming to give him his boring breakfast. As the steps came closer, he had the thought that it didn't sound like Boutin. The steps weren't heavy or hard, there was no thud of stomping boots. They were lighter steps, likely wearing slipper shoes, faltering between fast and slow.

 _Emilie?_

He heard exerted panting, some wheezing. A man's wheezing, not a woman's. The kind of wheezing Gaston associated with hay fever and allergies to mid-summer wildflowers. It sounded like the way Lefou's allergies acted up every-

The person walking up the stairs sneezed. Gaston recognized that sneeze.

 _Lefou?_

Gaston's mouth fell open when the man reached the dungeon. He jerked upward from his sleeping position and sat on the floor.

"Y-you...you came. You came to see me." The words came out in a hoarse croak in the early hour of morning.

The man was silent. He was trying to avert his eyes from Gaston, but Gaston could see he was struggling. He pulled a little wooden stool away from the corner and sat down upon it.

" _Lefou!_ Is it truly you?" Gaston asked, amazed. He tried to give him a kind smile in greeting, but the expression wasn't returned.

Lefou leaned against the nearby wall and crossed his arms, his eyes jumping back and forth between Gaston's own and the wall next to him. He bit his lower lip a few times.

"Lefou, you...you look well," Gaston said, trying to smile again.

His ex-friend didn't smile back, he didn't frown. He kept a neutral expression, blinking as if the sun streaming through the tiny window above was in his eyes, but it wasn't. Finally, he fixed his gaze on Gaston and managed to keep it, taking a deep breath.

Lefou wore a white linen blouse, dark tan breeches, a matching tan waistcoat of good quality. His bow tie was a pale mauve with white pinstripes. His clothes were new, Gaston thought. They looked classy. The forelocks of his hair had been cut shorter and formed tighter curls. That was different, too. And the slippers he wore were much better quality than those old threadbare shoes he used to have, Gaston thought.

The thought occurred to him that Lefou had taken time to dress up nice this morning and do his hair, just to go up to this dingy dungeon to visit him.

Gaston then noticed a little silver ring on Lefou's left hand. He had a _wife_ now? Was he learning how to be _normal_? Good for him!

"I've been hoping you'd come to see me," Gaston said, a sad tone in his voice.

"Good!" chirped Lefou in mock cheer. He broke gaze with Gaston and blinked at the wall.

"I'm...I'm not sure what to say. You _look_ good."

"Thank you," Lefou said to the wall.

"Can you look at me? I feel a little bit awkward. It's...you know. Long time no see," said Gaston, gesturing.

Lefou met Gaston's eyes with a raised eyebrow. " _Really_?" he said with an edge of sarcasm. He leaned back against the stone wall and took a deep, heavy breath. Then another, and another, looking upward before forcing himself to look at Gaston once more.

"Deep breaths. I get it," said Gaston with a little affirmative nod. "I suppose you need them right now."

"Undoubtedly, Gaston."

Gaston's face lit up in gratitude. "You said my name. I never thought I'd hear you say my name again."

"You know _what_?" Lefou said abruptly. "I'm just gonna sit here. I'm not saying another word. Do you realize that for almost an entire _year,_ I've had a speech rehearsed that I wanted to say to you, just by chance? Well, it's not gonna happen. I'm going to _sit_ my ass on this stool, and _shut_ my mouth right now, and _listen_ to whatever it is you want to say to me. Is there anything you _wish to say_?"

Gaston had a million things he wanted and planned to say, but he couldn't at the moment. He felt agonizingly uncomfortable. He felt...cowed. He felt...intimidated. By _Lefou_!

"I...I'm _sorry_. I regret my entire...old life. My former life... _damn!_ "

Gaston was sitting in almost a fetal position on the dungeon floor. His legs were criss-crossed like a child's, and he leaned forward, rubbing his hands on his head. He was quaking. Literally _quaking._ He spoke in a broken voice.

"So much happened, Lefou. So much. The curse, how I got here. I don't know where to start, how to explain it all again, I gave my confession to them...but for _you_...all I want to say is I'm _sorry_!"

Lefou watched him, unable to process the reality of the man before him, suffering, squirming in such discomfort. Someone like Stanley would be glowering in triumph at this. Hell, even Prince Adam, even _Belle_ would be amused at him in this state.

But he wasn't any of them. He was Étienne Lefou, still the 'funny' boy, the Fool, with 'abnormal' feelings, the man whose heart was not only worn on his sleeve, it had bled over so much during his years spent with Gaston that he barely had any blood left to nurture himself. But _no more!_

He resisted the urge to say anything. He bit his lower lip tight to keep it shut. If he kept silent, Gaston would keep going. Gaston would eventually try to say something to build up his wounded pride and ego in defense.

"All right, here's what I want to say. I am _not_ that man anymore, Lefou!" Gaston exclaimed, standing up to his feet, his fists clenched. "I have survived and I'm filled with care and love for my fellow man. Adversity has softened my cold heart!"

 _Yep,_ Lefou thought. Anyone who's in the dungeon and was caught is certainly going to _say_ he's turned over a new leaf.

"I've traveled a long hard road, filled with...pain, and disease, and...humiliation, and I kept going...I kept working, I kept _trying_!"

Lefou gave him an understanding little nod, shifting his position on the tiny stool, re-crossing his legs. Gaston looked at him in that expectant ' _Lefou, this is the part where you bolster me!_ ' way, and Lefou turned his gaze back to the stone wall.

"Are you still angry with me?" Gaston tried to search his gaze. "You're not looking at me. Well...I said I'm truly sorry. I...okay! The _castle!_ I'm sorry about that instrument...thing. I was fixated on the Beast. I had my foolish mission in mind, Lefou! It was my _mission,_ like the war! I didn't have time to go help you. I had to search that creature out, because I _thought_ at the time he was a menace-"

"That's a lie," Lefou said, breaking his imposed silence.

Gaston looked at Lefou, a pained expression on his face.

"You didn't actually _believe_ that the Beast was a threat to the village, or anyone else, Gaston. You only wanted to kill him for Belle, and for your _own_ glory."

"I...you knew me so well, Lefou," he said softly.

"I suppose you can say that."

"I'm sorry for all that happened that night," said Gaston, straightening up to maintain his dignity. A feeling of strength was overcoming him. "I'm sorry for...destroying our lifelong friendship. I was a fool. I'm different...much different now, and I want to take the Gaston I used to be and just…" He paused, fists clenched in front of him.

"Shake him silly?" Lefou finally began to crack a shadow of a smile.

"I was thinking worse."

"Something gruesome, involving blood?"

"Yes," said Gaston, grimacing in a dark, overly tortured way. "I never _asked_ to be still alive. The witch brought me back."

"That's what I thought Stanley said."

"Speaking of him...he said you were ill," said Gaston, realizing he'd forgotten that Lefou had been ill and possibly 'dying' according to Stanley. "I'm glad you're well again...I was worried about you. I've been waiting to talk to you, and...everything. I needed to know you are all right. Thank you for coming here... _thank you_."

Gaston seemed to turn a clear shift in his feelings at that moment. He spoke to Lefou in a sad, concerned tone, gazing at him with pure human sadness, the hazel eyes glistening. This was very different. It wasn't fake. It was _honesty._

On one hand, it touched Lefou's heartstrings, but on the other hand- it weirded him out. This was so completely un-Gaston. Lefou averted his eyes again, thinking it was all for show, and when he looked back, Gaston was still gazing at him with that same sadness and pain.

"Are you serious?" Lefou asked in a whisper. "Are you sad for _me_...or for yourself?"

"Truthfully?" Gaston gulped and swallowed. "Both. I've been sad for myself for days. You're right. I've been wallowing in self-pity, but I'm tired of wallowing, Lefou. Wallowing isn't what I want to do anymore, it's weak. It's not _me_. I want to stop." He blinked his eyes several times.

"Gaston...you can stop," Lefou said, trying to keep his heart hard. He clasped his hands in his lap and leaned forward a little. "It sounds like you're making yourself a prison. Right here," he added, pointing to his own head before clasping his hands in his lap again.

"I've been thinking about you for days. Wanting to talk to you. Stanley was up here the first night. He said he was worried you were going to die."

"Me? Die?" Lefou laughed a little. "Stanley has a flair for the overdramatic. Almost as much as you have. But not _quite_."

A smile finally began to pull on Gaston's lips. "Lefou, you're the best. Indestructible, like I always told you during the war."

"If I was so un-killable, then why did you keep me in the back of the regiment, in the reserves?"

Gaston gave Lefou a look of sorrow. "Because I put the _worst_ people in the front. The ones I didn't like. The ones who argued with me or made me feel like my father used to. And now looking back, I _myself_ was at the very front of every battle. Cannon fodder. You're too valuable a person to have been cannon fodder, Lefou."

Lefou stopped clasping his hands and put them on his knees. "Oh. I see. Perhaps you're re-writing your history a bit. From what I recall, it was 'only the strongest and best go to the front.' But okay." He shrugged.

"If I could relive the last ten or more years over, Lefou, I would have," said Gaston. "But I can't undo what I did. And to be honest, I am not going to be held here for very long. His Highness and Belle have given me mercy, and in about one month, they will let me go. And then I'm leaving, hopefully with Emilie. I want to marry her and settle down near Paris."

Lefou's eyes widened in interest. "Emilie, now is that the girl you came into the ballroom with?"

"Yes. We met while I was under my curse, believing I was someone else."

"About the curse. Were you a Beast, or a monster, or a troll?" Lefou kept a straight deadpan face when he asked this, and Gaston fought back a grin.

He shook his head. "Just a man. A humble man. Or rather, a proud man _forced_ to be humble."

"Really?"

"Yes. And this year spent living in ignorance of my old life was one of the happiest eras of my life. Full of love, and friendship. I wish I could say I missed _you_ in it, but my memory of you was wiped from my mind then. I had strange dreams, though. About war, and the Beast, Belle. You showed up too. The Enchantress didn't erase my unconscious mind, I guess."

"Really? So Emilie...fell in love with you when you weren't sure who you were."

"Correct."

"But she still loves you, even after she found out about all your...stuff."

"Yes. And Emilie...she's coming up to see me. I'm sure she'll come today. I... _hope_ she does."

"Are you worried that she won't?"

"Yes," said Gaston in a small voice, hanging his head. "She said she would visit me every day after my hearing yesterday with Prince Adam. But she could have changed her mind. She has no obligation to be with me."

The air of insecurity surprised Lefou, but it caused his heart to soften towards him. A memory resurfaced in Lefou's mind, one in which Gaston had just learned his father died on a dangerous hunting trip one winter. He'd been sitting on the bed, at thirteen years old, and looked so sad and alone. He'd allowed the twelve year old Lefou to reach out and hold his hand, and simply sit by him.

" _Sit by me, Lefou,"_ he had said.

"Do you want me to sit here and wait, keep you company while you wait for Emilie?" Lefou asked.

"That's up to you. But I don't want you to wait around up here and get bored and hungry."

"I'm not hungry."

"Is that the truth?" Gaston asked with a smirk.

"No," Lefou admitted. "I'm positively famished, it's past eight in the morning."

"So am I. The guard is late."

"Lefou, I can't help but notice that ring on your finger. Congratulations."

Lefou glanced at it. "I'm not married, Gaston. I'll never marry, you know. The ring is a gift from a...dear friend."

Gaston smirked. "Stanley?"

"Yes," Lefou said, and Gaston noticed his face light up with joy, just like how joyful he was when he used to sing odes to him in the tavern.

They sat quietly for a few moments. While they sat there, Gaston kept looking at Lefou in a sad way that made him feel odd.

"Gaston...what are you thinking?"

"I hurt you. I hurt you a lot, didn't I?" Gaston searched the other man's gaze; when he did, Lefou's eyes were filled with raw pain.

"Yes. You did. I don't know if I can ever forget how I felt that morning after, when I thought you were dead, and that night before, you left me, you didn't help me...and what's more is everything before that night. You used me. I tried to help you, but it was as if I wasn't there, I was just...a pawn for you to use. And you threatened me about the asylum. If that's exactly what ' _do you want to be next_ ' meant. If I had tried to argue with you…"

"Sorry," Gaston whispered sadly.

"Gaston, just don't do that ever again. With Emilie, with other friends, with _anyone_."

"I won't. I'm not that man anymore, but I know you'll never understand that."

"I'll try. I need time," said Lefou. He rubbed his head where he'd suffered the concussion.

"And _that_ was my fault too," said Gaston, gesturing to him.

"It's okay," said Lefou. "You weren't at fault for just showing up. You never meant harm when you came here, did you?"

"Of course not. I didn't know who I was. The spell broke when I saw Belle."

"I see," said Lefou. Footsteps began to patter in the stairwell below.

"The guard is here, I think," Lefou said, taking another deep, emotional breath to try to collect himself.

The footsteps were light, and a woman's voice called up.

"Gaston? It's me...is someone with you?"

" _Emilie_!" Gaston shouted.

Lefou watched his face light up with gratitude. The moving beam of morning sunlight had cast its glow upon him, and the green in his hazel eyes was visible. Lefou noticed that Gaston had a few more careworn lines on his face than he used to. He did not look like any kind of 'pure paragon.' He looked like a man. Just a man, who had gone through struggle. A man who had wrestled with pride, failure, his character set with an immature, almost childlike eagerness to be praised and liked.

Emilie came up to the dungeon- a modestly pretty young woman with long brown hair, wearing a grey dress and apron. She set the basket of delicious-smelling food and a water pitcher down on the stone floor before she reached into the cell bars and grasped the imprisoned man's hands. He leaned into her and they shared a kiss- one of the purest, most loving kisses that Lefou had ever seen two people share.

Certainly, during their youth, Lefou had watched Gaston lock lips with random women countless times. This was the first time he had ever actually seen him _kiss_ one.

When they parted from one another through the cell bars, Emilie turned to Lefou with a smile. "Hello, Monsieur. Forgive me, I didn't realize he had a visitor this morning."

"This is Lefou, Emilie. My dearest, closest compatriot. But only...if he still wants to be."

"I believe the verdict's almost in," Lefou said cheerfully, yet with a wistfulness. "Nice to meet you, Emilie. I'm so glad you're taking such nice care of Gaston. I really _am_!" he gushed. He reached to quickly shake her hand. "Étienne Lefou. Gaston and I grew up together. Been friends ever since I was seven, in fact."

Emilie noticed the jolly-looking visitor with the pink necktie seeming to fight bittersweet emotions despite his sunny words, wiping the corner of his eye. She recalled that Gaston had asked to speak to some old friend at the hearing.

"Wait- aren't you the man who's been sick?" she asked in realization. "The one who fainted and was asleep the last few days? 'Sleeping Beauty?' The whole _castle's_ talking about you!"

" _Really_?"

"Yes. Did you see Mrs. Potts yet today? She's been fretting over you," Emilie informed him.

"No...I just woke up last night. Then this morning, I came here right away to see Gaston. I apologize, I'll have to find Mrs. Potts and assure her I'm not dying! Despite what Stanley may have exaggerated."

"You truly _are_ a loyal friend, aren't you?" Emilie said with a smile.

"That's a _slightly_ accurate description," Lefou chuckled somewhat awkwardly. "So, uh, you brought food?"

"I did. It's breakfast. _Bon appetit,_ boys. Gaston, I'll let you and Monsieur Lefou visit for a while. I'm going to help Mrs. Potts in the kitchen, and Addie needs me. She's very upset this morning. Something bad happened to Plumette's brother. He was caught using his magic and was whisked away to some prison! And Addie was attacked by some horrible man, too! I want to help her, so I'll be back here to see you before noon, Gaston. Love you."

"Okay. I love you, too, Emilie. And once I get out, let Addie know that whoever attacked her is ground meat," he added, his expression still pleasant, like a loyal puppy.

Lefou was gobsmacked that as much as Gaston adored this woman, he wasn't annoyed that she was leaving him so soon to go back down to the bustling castle. Not dropping all her plans to give him hours of undivided attention!

"I love you dearly, Gaston-Luc," Emilie said, beaming. She leaned into the cell again; they shared another kiss. She turned and skipped downstairs, leaving the two of them with a basket of what smelled like cheese croissants and ham.

"Ah, so the two of you are on a first-and- _middle_ name basis," Lefou said with a grin.

"I guess you could say that." Gaston grinned in return. "So, Lefou. How do you feel about...the future? As far as...you know. You and me?"

"Our friendship?" Lefou's face sobered.

"Well, yes."

Lefou sighed and averted his eyes back to the wall once more. Gaston became uneasy.

"Is everything okay, Lefou?"

"Um...well, no. Not entirely. I just feel...like we can't get everything back. I have a different _life_ now, being on Adam and Belle's staff. I'm the manager of the horse stables, and I breed horses too. I like my job. And, well, there's Stanley. He is my best friend now, and...he's actually the joy of my life." Lefou glanced down at his silver ring.

"Stanley's the joy of your life?" Gaston asked in not so much an angry tone, but a mournful one.

"Yes. He is. You never really _knew_ Stanley, Gaston. And what you _did_ know of him, well, even I didn't know much about him before you...died. Or so we thought. Stanley...he wasn't really being true to himself back then. I didn't know the 'real him.' But now he shows it, and I _love_ who he is."

Gaston stared at his friend as he spoke; noticing how his face was reddening. "Oh," he simply said. "All right, then." He gave Lefou a little nod. "So, if you live here in the castle, who's taking care of my house?" he added.

"Um," Lefou shifted on the stool uncomfortably. "Well...Belle is. The old Legume home is now...um, Villeneuve's first School for Girls."

Gaston shrugged; his reaction neutral. "Doesn't matter anymore. I'm moving on after this."

"But Gaston, if you leave here soon, go to Paris, or wherever, and we don't...see each other again...it's okay."

"Why...would it be okay? With you, I mean?" Gaston asked, sadness and the sunlight casting shadows and bags under his eyes.

"Because things will never be the same," Lefou replied painfully. "They can't be. I...I wish you all the happiness with Emilie, Gaston. But...we just can't pick up the kind of friendship we used to have. Not...anymore."

Gaston hung his head and nodded. "Sure."

"I think I'm gonna head back downstairs. Enjoy your breakfast. I need to see Mrs. Potts, and Stanley of course, and Michel and Leon need me back out at the stables, since I'm better."

Lefou stood up from the little footstool, and went to extend his hand through the cell bars for Gaston to shake.

"Good bye, Gaston."

Gaston saw Lefou biting his lower lip, blinking rapidly as he turned around and ran down the stairs in rapid steps.

He didn't feel like eating that breakfast anymore.

...


	27. Losses and Loyalties

Chapter 27- Losses and Loyalties

…

" _Your Honor?"_

Gaston was surprised by a new visitor early in the morning- the Marquis Antoine de Brumagne. The gentleman, dressed more casually than usual in his travel clothes, ascended the stairs with steady and strong steps, defying his nearly sixty years.

"Good morning, Monsieur...Gaston Legume. That _is_ your true name?"

"Yes," Gaston said quietly. An uneasy feeling came over him; he had been doubting that he would be able to pick up his life at the nobleman's estate again.

"I regret to inform you that your services as my head of household and worker in general will no longer be needed. I am fond of you as a _person_. I knew you to be a hardworking and affable man. But I am _not_ able to employ a known convict. And what's more, my daughter is about to marry the cousin of the Prince who charged you of...the crimes spoken of last Monday during the hearing."

Gaston nodded, not saying a word. His uneasy feelings had been confirmed.

"I wish you the best, Monsieur." Marquis Antoine nodded curtly and disappeared down the stairs.

Gaston sighed; it made perfect sense. Prince Louis was Prince Adam's close relative. Evangeline would be connected to Adam and Belle by marriage now. It would be uncalled-for to have someone like Gaston as a member of this family's retinue.

…

Adelaide was staying in the small suite of Lumiere and Plumette, cuddling her kitten on a settee with an empty cup of Mrs. Potts' tea. She wore a bandage around her left arm. Emilie had stopped in to sit with her after helping the kitchen staff do dishes.

Adelaide had now told nearly everyone she had come in contact with about her attack by the evil Enchanter, and what had happened to Marcel. The carriage and horses that the Marquis and Marquess came in had disappeared with the driver- until his shocking reappearance of sorcery, witnessed by Adelaide. She was worried now that Sauvageon would show up again near the castle and harm someone else.

"Monsieur Lumiere, please, you have to warn everyone," Adelaide told her kind host. "You must watch out for a tall stranger with a dark suit and beard stubble, carrying a magic wand. He's a pleasant looking man, actually, but he's dangerous!"

"I'll do my best to announce the problem to everyone, Mademoiselle!" he assured. "The last thing we want is someone _else_ coming along to curse us...after all this time." He sighed, stroking his thick mustache.

" _Mon cher_ Francois," Plumette said to her husband, "I do not believe any of us are in danger. This was something between my brother and the man he worked for. This poor lady was caught in the crossfire. We aren't in danger, but oh, _mon dieu_!" She wiped her eye with her lace handkerchief. "My baby brother," she said mournfully, trying to hold composure. "He was the sweetest little boy you would ever know, and a good man now. I cannot stand the thought of him in a prison with all of those evildoers!"

Lumiere held her tightly in his arms. Adelaide wiped a new flood of tears, as her ressurected kitten curled peacefully on her lap.

"Magic is so evil, so terrifying," Adelaide said in despair. "I don't know how to feel. I'll never see him again...he was my _friend,_ and it turns out he was trapped in a world he wanted no part of anymore. It was my fault. He was caught breaking the law when he saved Lorette!"

"Oh _, petite,_ it is not your fault," Plumette assured her. "The Magical society _can_ be beautiful. It isn't all evil."

She decided to explain more to her about the fantastic world she'd been born in, recalling fonder memories.

"Flying horses and carriages. Lovely little secret villages. Interesting pets and creatures, and fine, extravagant schools for all youngsters who have the Gift. Marcel's school was in an Enchanted castle, just as immense as ours."

"Really?" said Adelaide. "How many Enchanted people live in the world?"

"Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands," said Plumette. "A fraction of all the people in the world, but most hide their Gifts, and the schools and villages are kept secret. In many ways, Enchanted life can be idyllic. The poor do not have to toil and break their backs as much as non-Magical people do. My Maman was poor for many years, but she was well taken care of. People of my ethnicity weren't sold into slavery. Yet, there was another kind of prejudice- against _you_ people."

"True," said Lumiere. "My Plumette's father had nothing to do with me, and will have nothing to do with our future children. At least her _mother_ came around to accept me, though. What lady wouldn't?" He caressed his wife's shoulder lovingly.

Plumette smiled and continued. "That is why those 'Exposure' laws were there in the first place, to keep non-Magicals safe. But I must say that _all_ of us in this castle...were once victims of someone who broke them horribly."

Lumiere frowned. " _Ma cherie,_ do we truly want to tell about... _everything_ that happened to us? Every detail?" he asked. "I would much rather leave that part of our personal past behind."

"I suppose we ought not tell without permission from Master Adam," Plumette said in a lowered tone. "You are _right,_ my Francois." She stroked Lumiere's cheek and leaned forward to kiss him briefly. "I am so thankful for you, and all we've gone through together. It just pains me now to be so warm and loved in your arms, while my dear brother is in peril. He has _no_ one, now."

"I wish there were something we could do, but we cannot," said Lumiere.

Emilie spoke up. "Did it have something to do with that lady named Agathe? _Was_ it her?"

Lumiere frowned. "She was involved, _oui_. But we must not discuss it further without Master Adam."

"Then let's _ask_ him!" said Adelaide.

"Addie, wouldn't it be rude?" Emilie argued.

"But Monsieur Luc- _Gaston_ was hurt by magic," Addie replied. "By the same lady! She toyed with his memories. I wouldn't want someone doing that to me. The whole idea of it is _not_ _right_!"

"That was not the worst thing," said Emilie wearily. "You never heard him confess that she...revived him from the dead."

"Oh, my God!" Adelaide cried. "Some Enchanters can do that to _people_? Not just animals?" She stroked Lorette's yellow-beige coat.

"The most powerful can. And that _wasn't_ right at all," said Plumette. "When I was a little girl, my Maman told stories about Enchanters in her native country who would bring their loved ones back from the dead, and they were never the same. I don't know if they were true- but one of her stories was a man who brought back his wife, and she went mad and attacked him because she missed her afterlife."

Adelaide looked at Emilie. "Oh no, do you think that Gaston ever-"

"No!" Emilie argued. "I don't think he _remembered_ being dead. If he had, he would have talked about it. He had no 'afterlife' that he would have missed."

"Perhaps he was headed for the fires of hell," said Adelaide, clutching her kitten. "Because he used to be selfish and unkind, and he tried to murder Prince Adam. His soul was sleeping and would have awakened in torture, but he was brought back by the Enchantress who gave him another chance."

"Then I believe that makes her _kind_ , not cruel," said Emilie, undisturbed by her sister's harsh opinions. "Back when she was visiting at His Honor's mansion, she seemed like a kind old woman. It's hard to believe she was an evil witch."

"I was somewhat acquainted with Agathe- but long ago," said Plumette soberly. "She didn't seem like a cruel person. She seemed- now, this was when I was a young girl, not in recent years- _troubled_. She was troubled by Master Adam's father. She had met him before he died. She had been in this castle years _before_ she cast the spell on us."

Plumette quickly stopped when Lumiere gave her a concerned raise of his eyebrow. "I don't want to say anymore...as Lumiere and I had said, it concerns Master Adam."

"I wish we could ask him and Belle about all of this," said Adelaide. It sounds like such strange and incredible tales, but now that I've _seen_ curses and spells-"

A knock sounded on Lumiere and Plumette's door. "Come in," said Lumiere.

A man entered, the kind older gentleman with the English accent and a pocket watch attached to his waistcoat. "Lumiere, I was asked by the Marquis Antoine to look for Mademoiselle Adelaide. He wishes for her to board his coach to journey home...in two hours."

"Thank you, Cogsworth," said Lumiere. "She is here with us, resting after an injury."

"Oh- my. I'm truly sorry, Mademoiselle! I just want to let you know that the Marquis and his family, as well and Monsieur and Madame Paquet, are going to leave today."

Adelaide's face fell. "I do have to go, Emilie. We never planned to stay as long as we have. And I'm not looking forward to the journey at all." Tears filled her eyes again.

"I'm so sorry," said Emilie, embracing her sister. "I can't leave Gaston behind, he has a few more weeks in the dungeon. He made an agreement to serve his time for the Prince and Princess. But I'll help you pack and see you off. How is your arm?"

"It feels better," said Adelaide, touching the bandage around her upper arm. "Plumette and Lumiere, _please_ watch out for that man if he shows up again to hurt anyone. His name was Alexis. That's what I remember Marcel calling him."

Plumette gasped, recalling old memories. "I remember an Enchanter named Alexis when I was a girl," she recalled. "He was about my age...and he was a member of the Sauvageon family. Agathe is _also_ a Sauvageon. My Maman wanted me to become acquainted with him, she even considered him one of my suitors! He had nothing to do with me, thank goodness!"

"Oh that's _horrible_!" cried Adelaide. "I'm so glad you ended up with Lumiere instead."

"So am I," Plumette replied, leaning against her husband lovingly. "And to tell the truth, Agathe _herself_ had a hand in my coming to be a maid at this castle in the first place. She helped me travel here by magic. I ran away from home, I must admit. But looking back, I believe she had reasons of her own. Since she was Alexis' relative and part of a powerful family, they wanted to keep their family 'pure' in magic. It meant that all Magical marriages had to be with other Magicals. I couldn't do magic, and Agathe knew it. Somehow she found out about my secret teenage crush."

Plumette smiled at Lumiere. "She _wanted_ me to be with him and I'm forever thankful for that. She helped me against my own mother's wishes! It was kind of her, even though her motives were not the best...and her methods were rather severe."

" _Plumette,_ " Lumiere said in gentle admonishment. "The past is the past, _ma_ _cherie_."

Adelaide was looking at the couple with widened eyes, stroking her now-sleeping kitten. "How did Marcel feel about all of this? Did your mother try to force _him_ to marry any Enchantresses? Any girls in particular?"

Plumette laughed a little. "I don't think so. Once he grew up, my Maman's opinion about _Sans-Magies_ had changed."

"Did he... _have_ a Magical girl in his life?" Adelaide pressed.

"That I do not know. Marcel is very private in matters of the heart. We lost touch with each other for many _years_ , of course," She gave Lumiere a cringing look. "He's always been so busy. Either playing his sport, or his job as a carriage driver- and later a spy. I do remember him saying once that he was annoyed with the girls from Magical school, and the girls who went to watch his team's games. He said they were either 'intimidating witches' or they tried to sneak potions on him. So I believe that deep down, he also hoped to end up with someone _Sans-Magie_."

Adelaide gave a sad smile, blinking back tears. "And now his future's so bleak. How long are prisoners kept there?"

"That...I just do _not_ know," said Plumette. "I feel so helpless."

Adelaide stood up carefully, shifting her sleeping kitten to her shoulder and going to embrace both Plumette and Lumiere.

"Adieu, to both of you. I hope to keep in touch with you and return someday. Thank you so much for all your hospitality."

"And godspeed to you, Mademoiselle," said Lumiere, a sad expression coming over his typically merry features. Emilie helped Adelaide gather all of her belongings in a carpetbag, and they left Lumiere and Plumette's suite.

The two sisters walked along the hallway and descended the grand staircase of the castle. They met up with the Marquis and his family, and Jean and Clémence Paquet. The seven of them spent the next hour or so sitting in the gardens, making sure all were packed and looking over their checklists.

The noble family felt bittersweet that Emilie would remain at the castle, and not travel with them. None of them really knew what to say about Gaston. Marquis Antoine still had very mixed feelings about him. He finally expressed his opinion to Emilie in frank honesty.

"Emilie," he told her, "I want to let you know that I had to dismiss him from our service. I _cannot_ have a confessed killer working in my household. I have had the problem with former criminals working for me in the past. _You_ remember that. I hope you understand."

"Thank you for letting me know, Your Honor," said Emilie. "I respect your decision. I know he will have his own plans for the future."

"Will you return to our household?" he asked. " _You_ were not on trial. It's up to you if you want to come back to be a maid for us, with your sister."

"Yes, I plan to," said Emilie, still disappointed over her employer's decision. It made logical sense to her, though. When it came to finding work, Gaston would be on his own. Yet, her engagement to him was still solidly planned.

"I cannot wait until you and Gaston-Luc have your own wedding," said Evangeline, speaking completely on a whim. "I'm more excited about that than I am about-" Evangeline's face sobered as she let her sentence trail.

"Evangeline," said her mother the Marquess, "you seem troubled. What is wrong?"

"Mother...and Father," the blonde noblewoman whispered. "I...I don't know how to tell you. But...I wish to postpone my own wedding to Prince Louis."

" _Why_?" Marquess Marie-Juliette cried, shocked.

"Please, Mother...Father...I need time. Time to _think_."

"But _ma petite_ ," Marquis Antoine tried to reason, "this wedding has been planned to take place in the cathedral in Versailles, the invitations have been sent, and even the _King and Queen_ have been invited!"

Evangeline frowned. "I'm sorry. I'm having wedding jitters. Second thoughts. I'm just...not _certain_."

Emilie and Adelaide remained quiet, yet they gave each other a knowing look. Prince Louis, cousin of Adam, was someone whom the two sisters agreed was unpleasant. Before, they thought that he and Evangeline were two peas in a pod; both frivolous, selfish, and superficial. Louis was definitely still all of those.

But something different had come over Evangeline's character ever since they had left home only ten days before. She was quieter and more aloof. She had stopped wanting her hair and makeup to be done every day. Emilie had seen her walking in the rose gardens alone one morning from her balcony window, looking troubled.

"Well then, dear, let's go home and we will talk about it more on the way," said the Marquess in a no-nonsense tone. Evangeline remained quiet and pensive, deciding to not press the matter.

"Madame Paquet, how are you feeling?" the Marquess asked Clémence kindly.

"I'm feeling okay. Just a recurring stomach ache," she said with a smile. "Jean...Your Honor...there is something that I want to tell all of you. It's something that I hope you won't be angry with me for, Your Honor. It concerns my ability to do my maid duties later on."

"Clémence! What is...is it...that you're...?" Jean spluttered, his eyes widening.

Clémence nodded, joy coming over her reddening face. "Yesterday evening, Madame Potts introduced me to the palace doctor, Monsieur Bergman. He had been here in the castle to check on Monsieur Lefou when he was sick. Madame Potts asked him to consult with me, because of my nausea. She insisted, saying it was important. So, he spent a few moments talking to me in private. He examined me...I'm sorry, Jean, but he was one of the most skilled doctors around. He serves the Prince and his staff, after all. Madame Potts offered to pay the fee. Anyway, M. Bergman said he was almost _certain_ that we're going to have a baby!"

"A _baby_!" Jean cried. "I'm a Papa! Your Honor, I hope this isn't an inconvenience for you, but I'm so happy!" He embraced Clémence, kissing her cheek. Adelaide and Emilie gave gasps of joy.

"Why would it be an inconvenience?" Marquis Antoine asked. "I think this is wonderful news. Children are a blessing. And as far as your abilities, Madame Paquet, we will address that matter when it comes. All we wish is for you to have a healthy baby." The Marquess and Evangeline nodded, with cries of ' _Congratulations_!"

"If all goes well- and I pray it does- the birth will be next January, during the winter," said Clémence.

"Monsieur Paquet, when we return to the estate, I will meet with you about ensuring that you have enough work the remainder of the year and into the next. I want to make sure you earn enough to provide for your family," said Marquis Antoine.

"Thank you," both Jean and Clémence said, beaming at each other. After a moment, Jean's face fell into a frown.

"What's wrong, Jean?" his wife asked.

"Your Honor, do Clémence and I have time to go back into the castle? To go to the dungeon and speak with Gaston-Luc?" Jean asked the Marquis. "We want to say our farewells."

"You may, of course," Marquis Antoine said. "I visited him this morning, and formally dismissed him from my service. It was very awkward. I do believe he feels ashamed that I learned of all his skeletons in the closet. I hope you can encourage him. He's a hard worker, no matter what his past entailed."

"We will try," Jean agreed. "Clémence, _cherie_ , let's go."

…

Gaston sat alone in his cell with a jug of water and an empty bowl that had contained chicken soup, feeling morose and disappointed that he had no job to return to. It was perfectly reasonable. He _knew_ that.

He heard two sets of steps coming up the stairs and hoped that one of them was Emilie again. Neither of them were her. Instead, two former friends from his Paris life were coming to see him. He took a sorrowful breath, dreading the idea of being judged, of losing yet _another_ friend.

"Jean, Clémence, I...it's good to see you both," he said blankly, trying to brace himself for further rejection.

"Gaston-Luc." The lanky young man and the petite woman beheld him with awkward but kind eyes. Gaston averted his gaze as Jean motioned for Clémence to sit down on the small footstool, while he himself stood against the stone wall.

Jean shoved his hands in his pockets. "I wish I had taken more time yesterday and the day before to see you. I owe you an apology," he said.

"I think I should be the one owing the apology, don't you think, Jean?" replied Gaston. " _I'm_ the one who had been hiding the fact I committed attempted murder. I wouldn't be surprised if you had _nothing_ to do with me ever again, just like the Marquis."

"The truth is, it's hard for my mind to even _get_ ," said Jean. "I have been angry and confused the last few days. I'm still reeling from the shock."

"This is _me_. This was my reality in the past," Gaston tapped his fist to his chest, sighing in defeat. "I _am_ a former criminal, and that will not change. And what I want to know, Paquet, is whether or not you can _accept_ who I am."

"I can," Jean replied after pondering a moment. "Whatever terrible things you did in the past, you sure paid for it, and suffered for it." He looked around the tiny dungeon cell. "I wouldn't even want to be stuck here for _two_ _days_."

"I _have_ paid for it in some ways." said Gaston, looking at the floor with a scowl. "I don't know if I've paid enough retribution yet, or not. I've been fired from the estate. I've lost the trust and respect of my old childhood friend, because I hurt him too much. I was sent back here to deal with the consequences of my old life, so I'm in this cell. But I am _not_ that brutish criminal anymore, Paquet."

"I believe you," said Jean with thoughtful eyes. He glanced to his wife, and she nodded solemnly. "But then, I didn't know you then, so I don't know if my opinion even _counts_."

Clémence spoke up. "To me, the 'Luc' I knew could _not_ be a killer," she added. "He might have punched some men out defending his friends, but he- _you_ \- weren't a cold hearted killer. That's why I'm so shocked. You _had_ to have changed."

Gaston swallowed a lump in his throat. "You both think so? You both see me as someone who _couldn't_ have been a murdering monster?"

The man and woman outside his cell both nodded. Gaston blinked his stinging eyes.

"I _know_ I've changed," he declared, grasping for words. "The past...to me it seems seems so foreign, now, Paquet, like a bad dream. A...fuzzy memory that I don't want to revisit. But now I _know_ why the witch Agathe brought me back to this castle. I'm _thankful_ I've been dragged through despair in order to be a better man. I do not regret the past year. I _liked_ who I became when my memory was erased, and I want to remain the man you befriended. Although I was _still_ a selfish fool when you first met me."

"You _were_ a bit selfish," Jean agreed. "But I definitely saw you grow less so, especially after you survived through the smallpox. I admire your strength, but I think you have more humility now. Which is more _important_ than strength," Jean reasoned. "Something bothers me, though. Do you _still_ wish you had been left to die?" he asked in a whisper, hoping not to offend. "I worry a little about you. For Emilie's sake and yours."

"No. I _don't_ wish that any longer. I want to forge ahead in a new life of my own, and all I wish is that Emilie will stay by my side."

"And I'm sure she will. She loves you," said Jean. "I just hope that...that you find peace, and...sanity. Maybe someone to provide you with help?"

"Is that your nice way of saying I'm crazy, Paquet?"

"No!" Jean tried to backtrack. "Um, it's just that I hope you can heal from all this. Overcome it. Remain the person I knew you to be, even if you have a bit of a wild and crazy streak."

"My wild and crazy days are over," Gaston said with a clenched jaw. "Are you still my friend, Paquet? Because I lost one friend. And I _don't_ want to lose another."

"I am," said Jean. "You need good honest men to share the journey of life with. I'm no powerful or wise man, but I'm honest to a fault, you know me. If you need a listening ear, I'm always around."

"Thank you," Gaston said quietly. "I appreciate your loyalty. And as for when I'm out, I'll be able to find some work near you, or around Paris."

"That's wonderful," said Clémence. "Because we want you to be around with us in the coming year, and next."

"We're going to be _parents,_ Gaston-Luc!" said Jean with a grin. "Clémence is expecting a baby. You guessed right."

"Congratulations!" said Gaston. He reached his hand through the cell bars. "Put it right there, _mon ami_!"

Jean shook his hand, the two men laughed as they extended the handshake, pumping each other's arms up and down. Gaston let Jean's smaller arm go down with considerable force. He watched Jean grimace a little at his strong grip, still laughing.

"You still got it," Jean said in eager praise. "When you return I promise to buy you a drink. Probably not a beer, though. We'll celebrate my growing family over a hot apple cider."

"Ahh, apple cider. The best medicine around," Gaston said, recalling Aloysius' potion drink. "Now that my curse has been broken, I might just see about buying us some beers!"

" _Beers_? Are you sure you can have them?"

"Only way to find out is to try!"

Clémence stood from the stool and reached to clasp Gaston's hand through his cell bars. "We will miss you for the time being, Gaston-Luc. But we want to see you back before the summer ends!"

"I promise. I will be there. I'll catch a ride back to the region of Paris, somehow," promised Gaston. "So, I guess this is goodbye for now?"

"Yes, for now. The carriage is waiting with the family," said Jean. "His Honor found a man willing to drive at least to Colmar, then we have to keep hiring other drivers."

"What happened to the two fellows who drove us here in the first place?" Gaston asked.

Clémence sighed in distress. "A long story. We learned that those two men who drove our coaches were Enchanted sorcerers working undercover. One of them turned out to be cruel and evil, and he hurt Addie by cutting her arm!"

Gaston's eyes widened in shock and anger. "It was _that bad_? Emilie mentioned something yesterday about it. How bad was Adelaide actually hurt?"

"She's doing better. The other servants got her bandaged up. It was a shallow cut on her left arm," said Clémence. "Her _heart_ hurts more than that, though."

His expression darkened; he clenched his fists. "That man had better not come within a _mile_ of me! He'll be dead. And I mean it. _Dead_."

"Gaston-Luc!" said Clémence in shock. "You would not want to fight a man like _that_! You wouldn't win."

"It's true. He's just like your so-called 'Aunt Agathe,' _mon ami_ ," said Jean. "Full of frightening sorcery. Poor Adelaide. She has to come home with us. Physically she's okay, but she's heartbroken."

Gaston scowled. "My guess is that scoundrel was the dark-skinned fellow that she was so sweet on! I'll give him a piece of my mind, and my _fists_!"

"Oh no, you have them mixed up!" said Clémence. "It _wasn't_ the dark man. He was kind and helpful. He was the one who used magic so you could confess and tell your story to the Prince and everyone all at once. Monsieur Clement, remember? But he was taken to some magic prison by the _other_ man."

"True," said Jean. "The other coach driver, the white man with the golden beard? _He_ was the rotten one."

" _Him_? I wish I could have rearranged his face while he was _pretending_ he wasn't a warlock! What exactly did he do to Adelaide? I _demand_ to know," said Gaston in what Jean and Clémence knew was a righteous rage.

"He used a magic wand...to cause a _small_ knife cut on her arm," said Clémence. "It _looked_ like a knife cut, but Addie said he never touched her at all. He just waved a magic wand and it was as if an invisible knife cut her! He threatened her, saying if she talked any more, he would cause her throat to slice open," She shuddered. "It reminds me so much of what happened last winter with those thugs! Adelaide always gets the brunt of it."

"Adelaide is a little spitfire, and I know she'll be all right," said Gaston. "She's indestructible. She reminds me of a _female_ version of my fr-" Gaston stopped, his mind painfully reminding him of what had transpired with Lefou. He dismissed the thought. "She will make a lucky man happy someday, I know it. Is she all right now? I wish I could see her."

"We need to leave soon, but I can ask His Honor if he can spare a few more minutes," said Jean. "She wanted to see you this morning, but we told her she should rest with her injury. This is a long flight of stairs, and she hates running up stairs as it is."

"Very well then. Until next time, Jean, Clémence. Congratulations on the little one."

Jean and Clémence each grasped and shook Gaston's hand, and then turned and left. Clémence blew him a playful kiss before she disappeared down the stairs. Gaston pretended to 'catch' Clémence's kiss in his hands, laying a palm on his cheek. He was beyond thankful and grateful he at least kept some of his loyal friends.

...


	28. His Sister at Heart, and a Letter

Chapter 28- His Sister at Heart, and a Letter

…

Gaston heard the footsteps of more visitors. Two sets of light steps, shifting between fast and slow, like Lefou's. This time, it _was_ his Emilie. She paused at the steps for a moment, encouraging her tired companion behind her.

"Oww, everything _hurts_ , Emilie, not just my arm." Gaston recognized Adelaide's voice and felt grateful.

He needed some sense of closure with the woman he considered a sister. All the times spent laughing and chatting with her in the Marquis' kitchen and dining room would now be only a pleasant memory. The short brunette woman with the plumper figure finally reached the top. A bandage was wrapped around her left arm, but she looked well- just tired and flushed as pink as the dress she wore. He knew she would be all right.

"Gaston-Luc! I had to try to make it here! I needed to wish you farewell," she said in breathy gasps.

"Addie, dear, it pains me to hear about your attack. I wish I could dispense _justice_ as only I know how," Gaston said, grinding one fist into his palm.

"Please, it's all right. I'm okay," Adelaide said, approaching him to touch his forearm in a gentle, reassuring manner. "You can't catch him. He's gone now. I know you're tough, but I'd rather you come back to _us_ when you're released, not another dungeon sentence." She sat down carefully on the little footstool to take a breath, crossing her ankles and fussing with her skirt. "Whew! I've had enough drama to last my entire life!" She laughed a little, inviting a smile from Gaston.

He guessed correctly; Adelaide did not need him to take violent revenge on that warlock, who'd slithered back to the snake hole he came from. _Coward_. He glanced over at Emilie, they shared a look of relief. As soon as all three of them left this castle, the better. Sorcery still seemed to cling to the cursed place like a virus.

"I will be back, you know," said Gaston. "At _least_ to the Paris region, in twenty-five days give or take. As long as my _love_ is there to welcome me." He reached out to take Emilie by the hands, kissing her fingers one by one. " _Ma_ _cherie,_ " he teased.

"Gaston-Luc, you're too much," said Emilie.

"Yep."

"You're acting like Monsieur Lumiere and Plumette," Adelaide said. "Normally I would find it to be nauseating- but it makes me happy. For the moment." She watched them share a tender kiss through the jail bars, her arms crossed. "I wanted to give you my best wishes. I'm, um...heading home," she added when he and Emilie broke their kiss.

The smile she was trying to plaster on her face fell away. From her seat on the low stool, she still felt painfully like that extra 'third wheel' while observing the loving couple. The man _she_ had fallen for was in prison now- for much longer than 'twenty-five days.' She averted her gaze from Gaston and Emilie and smoothed her skirt.

"Come here, cupcake muncher," Gaston said with a laugh, using the moniker he'd given her last spring when he caught her sampling cakes for the Marquess' Sunday tea. He reached a playful hand out and tugged Adelaide to him by her good arm as she stood up from the stool. She attempted an embrace through the cell bars while Gaston gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

"Next time we meet, Addie dear, you'll be family."

"Family?" Emilie asked, joy alight on her face. "When are you thinking that will be official?"

"We'll have a small wedding as soon as I return! Perhaps we will drive into Paris, and go to a chapel there. Why wait?" He grinned.

"And hopefully you will have washed your hair and put on a clean suit?" Adelaide interjected.

"Addie, he's in the dungeon. He can't _help_ it," said Emilie, giving her rather unkempt fiancé a look of apology. "I agree. Let's tie the knot as soon as we can, when you arrive!" She was surprised at herself once she said it out loud.

"Let's do it, Emilie! We'll be married by the end of the summer! In August or September." exclaimed Gaston. "Is it yes, or is it _oh, yes_?"

"The answer is _oui,_ mon cher. I prefer our French." Emilie replied with a laugh.

"His Honor can fetch a clergyman ahead of time, I'm sure," suggested Adelaide. "But...can you _afford_ a honeymoon? Or take time away from your job search for one?"

"I was thinking of a... _rustic_ honeymoon," said Gaston, gesturing with his hands. "Picture this, Emilie. You and me, camping, in a burlap tent out in the forest. We'll listen to a few wolves howling, the hooting of owls, the songs of _hundreds_ of little frogs. I'll build a fire and roast us up a few wild turkeys I've managed to hunt down. With bread of course. And apple cider."

Emilie laughed with enthusiasm. "You've had time to daydream, haven't you?"

"We'll watch the moon and stars rise as we lie on quilts and pillows, and I'll put on plenty of logs for the fire to burn all _night_!" Gaston finished.

Emilie blushed and squeezed his hand. "That...sounds beautiful."

"It rains a lot in late summer, you know," Adelaide quipped. "You might end up showering all night, instead of bathing in the glow of- um, flickering firelight and other such- ' _blazingly hot'_ kinds of things," she added, making finger-quotes with a teasing smile.

Gaston chuckled, though he was sadly reminded of someone else who used to have the annoying habit of making 'finger quotes' as he spoke. Adelaide must have spent some time with Lefou. She'd picked up one of his mannerisms.

"Oh, _Addie_ ," groaned Emilie, trying to not be cross at her sister. "Must you be such a spoilsport? It might not rain."

"Adelaide- you wouldn't by chance be related to anyone with the surname 'Lefou,' would you?" Gaston asked with a raised eyebrow. "Because it is _scarily_ uncanny. Have you met him?"

"I did! I met him at breakfast. And Stanley, of course," Adelaide replied, her face brightening. " _Love_ those two. We're all fast friends now, the three of us. Lefou certainly is my _other_ 'brother at heart.' Except he wanted to steal Lorette away from me, and I said _non_! He can get his _own_ cat! I asked him to write to me, and he said he would. Though he apologized for being 'partially illiterate' and asked Stanley if he'd help him write letters. Such a sweet man."

Gaston bit his lip. He wanted Adelaide to see only _him_ as her 'brother,' not Lefou. If Lefou didn't want much to do with _him_ anymore, why would he associate with his sister-in-law? It was a childish, peevish thought, but he couldn't help it.

"And of course I want to still keep in touch with Plumette, and Lumiere, and Mr. and Mrs. Potts, and the musician couple," Adelaide continued on, her speech at a rapid, manic pace as if she were forcing cheerfulness on herself. "I'll miss them _all._ I never expected to meet such a _wonderful_ and _fun_ group of castle servants!"

"It figures," said Gaston. "They're all good people, I am sure. At least _you_ have Lefou as a friend, now. I...I wish you well, Addie." said Gaston, gulping and swallowing.

He tried to focus on exactly _why_ she was coming across so anxiety-riddled and fake-cheerful, in spite of her happiness for his and Emilie's marriage plans. He knew when both she and Emilie were _genuinely_ happy; it always showed in their eyes. Emilie's eyes shone with contentment and joy, but Addie's were reddened and tired despite her gushy words. It was painfully reminiscent of Lefou when he had last visited.

"Addie," Gaston said, searching for the right words, then deciding to get to the point. This poor woman's love life had been a mess since he'd met her. "I want to tell you that I _will_ send my hopes and prayers up for your gentleman friend. I heard he was sent to some prison, though he did nothing harmful. I can tell you're hurting _,_ dear. If you want to talk about that around us, it's all right. I mean, I didn't _mean_ to go on about just our wedding and honeymoon. Can't always be about _us_."

Emilie nodded and gave him a gentle smile. "Gaston Luc, that's such a kind sentiment. I'm proud of you for thinking of her. Addie, if you're hurting just _tell_ us, please."

"Hurting?" Adelaide asked. Her eyes began to well with tears. "I...I'm fine, really! I'll be _fine._ "

"Addie. I know by _experience_ ," Gaston pressed. "Because I _knew_ someone who acted the same as you. Trying to hide his love with jokes and cheer, with being 'jolly.' It is _not_ shameful to be in love with someone who you don't think you're allowed to love."

Gaston looked at her softly; lovingly. Like a dear older brother- because he _was_. Adelaide's face crumpled in anguish; she looked over at her sister for further permission to share.

"It's...hard. I finally felt a real _connection_ with a wonderful man, but now...we're from completely different worlds, Marcel and I. And now he's suffering for it, and I blame myself. I'm going to have to try to _forget_ him now." She began sobbing as Emilie rushed to hug her.

"You shouldn't have to," Emilie said. "I will send my hopes and prayers up for him, too."

"I- I need to go home!" Adelaide said, sniffling into Emilie's shoulder. "Back to our own kitchens, our laundry. I can keep my _mind_ off him there. Perhaps there will be other men. But I don't _care_ about other men, Emilie! My heart and mind will remain off in some strange, creepy warlock dungeon! I'll whisper his name into the stars every night, perhaps he'll... _feel_ my love. I _hope_."

"Oh, Addie," Emilie said as she consoled her crying sister. "I am sure he will."

Gaston clung to the cell bars, his heart in surprisingly real concern for her. There was nothing he could do. As strong as he was and would be when he got out, magic scared him. Agathe had made him feel like he was a lunatic during her curse. He knew he was no match for the power of sorcery, the world of witches and warlocks. He'd shot a cursed Beast, only to fall when the cursed castle that came with him crumbled on itself. He didn't understand it.

"Addie, you're strong," he encouraged. "You're a spirited girl. You'll find happiness again. You'll get through this heartache. And remember you have _us_. We will be your family, no matter what."

"Oh, Gaston-Luc!" Adelaide broke her embrace with Emilie, and extended her hand to Gaston again grasping his. "Thank you!" she cried, her eyes shining with hope. "I love you. Like a brother of course, but I do love you, so much."

"Likewise," Gaston said. "Have a safe trip. Keep your chin up. Bake and eat as many cupcakes as you want, and take care of your cat. Godspeed, my dear Adelaide! I love you."

Both Adelaide and Emilie stepped forward and gave Gaston one brief kiss on the cheek before Emilie escorted her tearful sister back downstairs, back out into the summer warmth and the waiting coach. The Marquis and his family, Jean, and Clémence were packed and ready to board.

Emilie and Adelaide shared one more hug goodbye. Lumiere, Plumette, Cogsworth, Lefou, Stanley, Madame de Garderobe and the Maestro- _and_ Belle and Adam- came to wish the family and their three servants _bon voyage._

Lefou strode over to Adelaide with a yellow ball of fur on his shoulder. "By chance, dear, are you _missing_ something?"

" _Lorette!_ " Adelaide exclaimed. "You ran away from the carriage again. You know you can't do that!"

"She _wants_ to stay with me, but I'm trying to convince her otherwise." Lefou said with a chuckle. "Wait- _what_ was that?" He put the cat's face next to his ear and spoke in a high-pitched voice. "You _really_ wanna live here with Uncle Lefou? You wanna sleep inside Stanley's big pink bonnet and eat _escargot_ every day?"

" _Lefou_ ," Adelaide chided, reaching to peel the kitten off of Lefou's shoulder. She hugged him and his partner, Stanley. "Take care, you two. Write to me. And I don't care if you misspell words."

"A-D-E-L- I believe there's two L's-"

"Don't _worry_!" said Adelaide. "I'll be able to read it."

She spotted Plumette and Lumiere, the two she had come to love most of all. She handed Lorette over to Clémence and rushed to them with warm embraces. Looking into Plumette's eyes, Adelaide's heart was pierced with fond but painful memories. The woman's pretty dark eyes, the warm brown tone of her skin- she resembled her brother so much, the man she'd fallen for and lost.

"Mademoiselle Adelaide! _Bon voyage_ \- and please feel welcome to return and be our _guest_!" said Lumiere, his large mustache bouncing comically with his words. Adelaide wondered how Plumette could ever keep a straight face with her husband's mustache. The silly thought whisked her sadness away for a moment.

"Adelaide, I have a little something for you," Plumette said, reaching into her dress pocket. "Something that may connect my brother to you, even if only a symbol." She held in her palm a small piece of jewelry. It was a pin shaped like a white dove, made of pearls.

"A dove pin? It's beautiful. But it's _yours,_ Jacinta," Adelaide said, using Plumette's real name just as Marcel did.

"Please be free to take it and wear it, Adelaide. It belonged to my Maman and she passed it on to me, because doves are special to _her,_ as they are to me. Our family symbol, in a way. They bring good luck and are harbingers of true love." She smiled up at her Francois. "Because I now have the true love of the man I wished for, never to part."

Adelaide was touched, but skeptical. "Did your mother find true love?"

"She did...eventually. Her first marriage to my and Marcel's father ended. But later she met a good man in Paris, a fellow named Hami. He is from her native country. I have their address in Paris if you ever want to visit them. Maman is still alive and healthy. Her married name is now Sabine Djokoto. She and Hami live in the Third Quartier, next to my aunt and uncle and cousins. They would love to meet you!"

"The Third Quartier?" Adelaide cried. "That's my home _neighborhood_! What street do they live on?"

" _Rue Seconde,_ " said Plumette.

"I know where that is! It isn't that far from my parents' or Jean's family home at all! I may have seen them without ever knowing. What a small world!"

Adelaide gratefully took the jewelry from her new friend and pinned it to her dress bodice. The coincidence of Plumette's and Marcel's other family members living in her old neighborhood was a wonderful surprise, something to look forward to.

"And before I forget, I also want to give you something that Marcel gave me. Something _much_ more characteristic of him." With a sad smile, Plumette took another small object from her dress pocket. A golden ball, with a feathery pair of wings attached to it.

"What is it? Jewelry _?_ It's very pretty." She looked for a chain, but it wasn't a necklace.

Plumette laughed fondly. " _Pretty?_ Oh my, you would not know. This is a game ball from Marcel's favorite sport. He's given me at least seven or eight of them over the years."

Adelaide took the little winged ball in her hand. The wings fluttered a little, tickling her fingers. "It's so cute. I'll treasure it, just because it was his. _Merci_." She hugged her and Lumiere once again.

Adelaide reluctantly joined her employers, Clémence, and Jean aboard the large but cramped carriage, six people in its full capacity. The new driver, a castle servant named Leon who worked under Lefou tending horses, slapped the reins.

Emilie waved her sister and the others good-bye. After Belle and Adam and the servants went back to the castle, and the coach disappeared around the curve, she went back upstairs to the tower dungeon to see Gaston.

"How is she?" Gaston asked Emilie as they embraced and kissed once more.

"We all were able to cheer her up. I can't wait to go back, with you. Do you want me to bring you something? Dinner will be prepared downstairs soon."

"Thank you, Emilie. Bring me a little of everything. And...if the Master will allow it, a bottle of wine. I want to see if I'm able to drink it without my mouth burning."

"I will," said Emilie.

...

Later, when she had brought him dinner to share with a bottle of red wine, Gaston took a tiny, cautious sip. It did not burn him any longer. " _Mon Dieu_! Is this real wine?"

"Yes. Lumiere said it was from a 'good year,' according to him."

"So my curse is _completely_ broken," said Gaston. "In every way."

"Gaston-Luc, is there ever a chance you want to show me around Villeneuve? Your home village? We passed through it over a week ago and I feel this urge to explore it. I want to see the house where you grew up, and all the other places you frequented."

"Emilie," Gaston said with a resigned sigh, closing his eyes and taking another sip of the wine. "No. I can't."

"Why not?" Emilie asked, disappointed.

"I've left that town behind. It's full of people I left a bad impression on. No one would have a good word to say about Gaston-Luc de Soleil Legume anymore, the name is tarnished. Even my late father was looked back on as an arrogant prick of a man, and I was worse. Despite my years of being praised for my war heroics."

She frowned. "Well...if you ever change your mind, let me know. I'd like to take a ride into town soon and explore it for myself, then. Can you tell me about places and people you know? Just so I can say hello? I won't mention you. I just want to know _them_ ," she added.

"That's fine," he mumbled. "The blacksmith in town is a good man. His name's Tom. Good personable fellow, family man. Then there's Dick, who's Stanley's older brother. But you would never believe they are brothers, looking at the two. He's always laughing and joking, a salt-of-the-earth working man with a wife and children, same as Tom."

"What about women? Any women you remember?"

Gaston chuckled. "If you want to meet some interesting characters on the female side of things, go to the dress shop. There's three sisters whose parents are the town tailors. I'm curious if they ever found husbands yet. Elise, and...I don't even remember what the other two were named. They all start with E's, but none are named Emilie. Hmm...curious how they're doing. They were all in love with _me_ , and they weren't discreet about it at all."

Emilie shook her head and smiled. "That's amusing. I imagine they all wanted to win the hand of the dashing war hero."

"Too true."

"If they could see you now- the way I'm looking at you now- would they have loved you still if they saw you like this? In a prison cell with unwashed hair? Or worse still, how you were when you were ravaged with smallpox?"

Gaston smirked. "Nope."

Emilie reached over and rummaged in a bag she'd used to take the wrapped dinner up to the tower, and found a pad of paper and a small pencil stub. "Remember my drawings?"

"Of course. You used to sketch buildings. You showed them to me. Have you had time to do any artwork lately?"

"I sketched the rose garden yesterday when I was sitting on a with Jean and Clémence on the terrace." She turned the pages and showed the pencil sketch to him.

"Very nice. It needs some color," he observed.

"I'll have to ask someone to borrow paints. Little Chip might have some in their family quarters. His father is a potter and artist."

"Speaking of artists...have you ever seen Belle's father, Maurice, in the castle over the last week? Has he been present here?"

"I don't think so."

Gaston looked pensively at Emilie's sketch pad. "Time is running out. Would you mind if I use your sketchpad and pencil to write him a letter?"

Emilie's eyes widened; she had forgotten about that detail. No wonder Belle's father had not been visiting the castle. ' _Tied to a tree and left for wolves…'_

"Of course, _mon chere_." She handed him the writing implements and sat quietly as Gaston began to write, awkwardly scribbling out things and tearing pages out to start over again.

He wrote and wrote, until finally, he tore out the page he'd been frantically scribbling on and handed the short letter to her. His handwriting was simple and unrefined, printed rather than cursive script. It leaned hard to the right in a jumbled rush of large, angular letters and dashes.

 _Monsieur Maurice,_

 _I am alive. I am certain you learned the news from your daughter. Just as the case with His Highness, your son in law, I was cursed by sorcery and was given a punishment for my evil deeds. I am writing from the castle's dungeon at this moment where I am serving a sentence much more forgiving than the one I deserve._

 _I do not expect your forgiveness, but not a night goes by where I do not think of the pain and harm I caused you, your daughter and others. I will regret those actions for the rest of my life, and they will remain a stain on my soul. I wish you the best, and many blessings I wish for your daughter and His Highness. If you come to the castle, feel welcome to visit me at the dungeon._

 _Regretfully yours,_

 _Gaston Luc de Soleil Legume_

"Bring it to Belle for me, won't you?" Gaston asked Emilie.

"Of course I will. I'll deliver it to her in the morning." She put the letter inside the sketchpad and put it in the bag, before letting out a yawn. The few sips of wine, something she was not used to, had made her feel tired and woozy.

"I'm starting to get tired." Emilie stood up and leaned into the cell to give him a gentle kiss.

"Your kisses taste like wine," he said. "I never would've expected that. The prim and proper little maid I met last year."

She gave him a shy smile, and kissed his stubble-covered cheek. "I never would've expected Jean's big, bragging friend I met last year to give me the time of day."

"I'll give you the time of day and much more." He pulled her into another kiss, harder and more passion-filled. "Time for you to go downstairs and go to sleep. Dreaming of _me_ , of course."

"Of course," she replied. "I'll try. _Bonne nuit._ I will see you in the morning."

...


	29. Release

Chapter 29- Release

…

Belle stood before him. It had been nearly five weeks since he had been locked in the dungeon, and Gaston was hoping upon hope that now it was time.

"Good...uh, good _morning_. Your Highness," he said, surprised to see her. She seemed intimidating to him now. The Princess of the region, dressed in a peach colored gown with lace on the cuffs. Her hair was held in an elegant updo, and she wore a silver necklace likely given to her by Prince Adam, her husband.

It was shameful for him to think that less than two years before, he was hounding and pestering her, violating her personal space at her doorstep with his unrefined attempts at marriage proposals. Tugging on her skirt, rudely stepping through her vegetable garden as if she were his property.

 _What was I thinking?_ Remorse come over him at the thought of knowing _she_ recalled those times just as he did. And that was even _before_ that night on the castle roof.

"Adam has sent me here to announce your official release. The guards are coming up soon to let you out," Belle said matter-of-factly.

"Thank you," he whispered, his head bowed.

He felt her eyes on him for what seemed like forever. He wondered what she could be thinking at that moment. If Belle were a less kind, vindictive person, he guessed it would be something along the lines of ' _The tables have turned, haven't they, Gaston? You aren't so celebrated and powerful any longer, are you? Go- and I no longer want you in my sight again!'_

But he knew that could not be what Belle was thinking.

She spoke again. "Gaston, when we took ownership of your old home last year to turn it into a school...we found many of your old belongings. Furniture, heirlooms, little things that likely belonged to your mother. Lefou took care of most of it. He sold or gave them away. But there were some things of your mother's that he keeps in storage here in the castle, and he wanted to know if you would like them back."

"Oh?" Gaston gave her a puzzled look. He hadn't thought much about his own mother for ages upon ages. Much less things that belonged to her. The woman had died when he was eight years old.

"Adam and I very much regret the loss of your family home. Of course you _must_ understand that you were believed dead. Lefou was your last remaining person who was willed your estate. If he hadn't been named, it would have ended up as the property of the bank in Villeneuve. I'm thankful that Lefou was kind enough to let us use it for our school."

He raised his head and nodded. "I know. You never would have expected...uh, _this_. I wouldn't have either." He gave her a little awkward smirk. "And I thank Lefou for his efforts to help you with getting a school for girls established in the village. He told me about it when he saw me last."

Gaston winced, thinking again of Lefou and the fact he hadn't come up to see him since that one day. He was living down below in this immense building all this time, working outdoors in the stables, traveling to and from Villeneuve, most likely. With Stanley, of course- now inseparable from him. They were surely in touch with Tom, Dick, the others. But Lefou, and Tom, and Dick...they were another life, another world. Gaston was simply not part of it anymore.

"I know, this is awkward, Gaston. And I apologize." Her smile was just as kind as it was when she had visited the dungeon last, during his magical hearing.

"I'm fine, Belle. I mean- _Your Highness_. I don't need the house any longer, and perhaps...if Emilie could look at my mother's old items, she might like some of them."

"Thank you, Gaston. We'll show her the boxes in storage. In about fifteen minutes, the guards will arrive to let you out of this cell. They have the release form signed by my husband, and then, well...you and Emilie can be on your way. We paid for a coach's fare to Paris."

"Thank you," said Gaston, surprised that she and Prince Adam would arrange for a coach. But then, he supposed- the sooner they had him out of their castle, the better.

…

One hour later, Gaston and Emilie were traveling on a coach bound for Paris. He held her tightly in the seat, never wanting to let her go. She was wearing the old pearl necklace, the only item from the box of his late mother's old things that Emilie decided she liked. It looked elegant on her, he thought.

"Let's go immediately to a church, find a priest. Whatever steps it may be to marry as soon as possible," Gaston announced.

"But...where will you be living? I will need to return to the Marquis' estate first, but you...won't."

"I'll manage. I have a small amount of money, and I'll find a hotel or boarding house. I'm a good handy fixing and building man, so I'm sure I'll get hired by someone the moment my boots hit the streets of the city!" he said with a confident grin, perhaps forced.

"I like your optimism," said Emilie, smiling fondly.

"You call it 'optimism?' Not arrogance or even pride?"

"Yes. It's not a bad thing. It's a _good_ thing. You're still confident."

"What if I _do_ end up a pauper, penniless and alone? Will you still love me, will you still swear your devotion and faithfulness to _me_? Your Gaston-Luc, an ex-convict who is lucky if he sweeps streets for a day?"

A slight smile of exasperation over Gaston's need for drama crossed her face, but she shook her head. "You won't. I have my own earnings, if you don't mind sometimes depending on a woman. Your _wife_."

Gaston's face twisted in a look of abject horror. " _You?_ A woman, supporting me as her husband? Never! That will _not_ happen. I will work any job I can to ensure that you don't foot the bills!"

"Don't be angry, _mon cher._ I don't mind serving in the estate. In fact, I don't even want to leave yet because I want to still be with Adelaide for awhile. We can move in together in Paris once you find a comfortable apartment or home."

He shrugged, not saying anything for a while. He thought again of the people he'd left behind from his old life, who had once held him in respect and regard. Lefou, who had been kind and positive that day, but in the end decided to let that old relationship die. Belle- surprisingly kind and encouraging and forgiving. He now held her in a bit of awe. _And_ inspiration, for her cleverness at that hearing, and her tough-love pep talk that helped him keep Emilie.

Gaston felt awed and inspired by Princess Belle. If that wasn't the oddest paradox, he didn't know _what_ was.

A few weeks earlier, right after Gaston had written the letter to Maurice, he had received a short visit from him with Belle at his side. The man had happily accepted his remorseful apology. The older fellow had worn a smocked shirt, apron covered with paint from his busy artisan's projects. He'd talked pleasantly about how he'd developed such a fast friendship and business rapport with Jean Potts, another local artist. So instead of the visit being uncomfortable and awkward, Gaston had listened to Maurice casually talk about his life now- as if it hadn't fazed him that the man who tied him to a tree and left him for wolves was still alive.

The only thing the man had said regarding past events was a wry ' _Now you know the power of magic. Isn't it incredible?'_

Gaston had simply smiled and nodded. " _It is,"_ he'd replied.

…

In only two days, they had reached the area of Paris. Before entering the city, Gaston dropped Emilie off at the Marquis' estate to let her reunite with her sister and colleagues and continue to earn her own modest living. After giving her dozens of hugs and kisses goodbye, he rode into the city alone.

He was let off at a busy corner not far from the main section of town, where the government buildings were- the same ones where he'd inquired about joining the army over a year before. Under his fake name, of course.

He thought for a moment what it would be like if he went back into those military offices and found Major Delacroix, his old commanding officer, again. Delacroix had never known he'd been supposed to be dead. He decided on a whim to go into the building.

He felt just as humbled as he'd been back when he pounded the pavement in the city as 'Luc Avenant.' Many gentlemen, well-dressed in their silk culottes, passed by him, none paying him any mind nor looking him in the eye. He was but a face in the crowd. Yet, the anonymity was a comfort. No one here knew that he was someone who'd shot and killed Prince Adam of Alsace-Lorraine while he was cursed as a Beast. And from what he had sensed, that fact was something that Prince Adam _himself_ did not want to make widely known.

He meandered into the military recruiting office. Two men were there, neither recognizable as Delacroix or anyone else he once knew. The younger one eyed him with boredom.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Uh...no. I don't. I was just...sticking my head in to see if Delacroix is around. I'm just an old friend."

The military officer frowned. "Major Delacroix is in America of course. _Fighting_. Just like nearly all of the King's career officers."

He glanced over to his colleague at the desk and shook his head, as if Gaston were some annoying dunderhead. Looking down at his modest civilian clothes, they were probably correct.

Maybe. But perhaps he _should_ let them know who he once was.

He cleared his throat. "Ahem...despite my attire, I'm a former Captain from the Seven Years' War. I'm Captain de Soleil Legume. Is there any need for in-country service while the other officers are overseas? I'm offering my services and willing to re-recruit if needed," he found himself saying in a polite yet confident tone.

May as well give it a shot, though it was unlikely. His thirty-three years were well visible on this face.

The older officer gave him a polite nod of interest. "What was the last year you served?"

"1763." Both men frowned.

"Thank you for your interest, Captain, but that was long ago. Thank you for your service in the past. We're looking for _fresh_ recruits at the moment. All former officers, though, are encouraged to ship to America to fight in their Revolution against the British. If _you_ happen to be interested in going, you're welcome to fill out a form," the older officer said, gesturing to a quill inkwell and a pile of papers nearby.

 _Too old._

"Thank you. At the moment, I'd have to discuss this with...my wife. Perhaps I will come back to reconsider."

He turned and left the office, heading out the building. _No_ , he couldn't bring himself to do it. Emilie was more important than joining up for a war of independence for others, half a world away.

…

One week later, after days of pounding pavement mercilessly, Gaston found a job as a carriage cab driver- the same job that 'Luc Avenant' had done in his false memories. He drove and handled the horses well, was cordial to the riders, learned more about all parts of the city. He soon made just enough to rent a little flat in Jean's old neighborhood. It was, as he expected, humbling. He befriended a few fellow drivers from the station, but never cared to socialize.

While driving, listening to the horses make their musical clip-clopping sounds through the streets, Gaston was left to his thoughts much too often. Was this all there is left in life? Being a carriage driver wasn't respected or honored at all, and it bothered him greatly. He wondered a few times if perhaps he should fill out those papers and ship to that faraway war front after all, to feel that old glory and heroism again. Adventure in a foreign place.

But whenever he returned home to his small three-room apartment, he changed his mind. He stoked the fire in his hearth, rearranged candles and placed a lace tablecloth on the little kitchen table. He'd found colorful ribbons to tie the lace curtains on the two windows of the front room. He acquired a vase, for the flowers he planned to always buy her. He bought some very decent furniture at a pawn shop, where the wealthy left their castoffs for the average folk to buy for cheap- a tea set, a large pendulum clock, and a wide spindle bed with a downy feather mattress. And a soft silky quilt, of course. The quilt was slightly torn, but he'd find someone to mend it soon.

He was creating a home for himself and his wife to be- and it was wonderful. A wife downstairs he'd met and spoke with brought him her extra set of plates after he told her he was planning to be married soon. She then offered to sew that secondhand bed quilt- so it looked like new.

It wasn't only feminine things Emilie would like that Gaston bought to decorate his new home. His eye was drawn to a pair of mounted elk antlers in the pawn shop; some trophy that a rich man probably showcased in his smoking room. He bought it, and mounted it over his fireplace with the thought that he'd take up hunting once in a while and bag and mount his _own_ game whenever he found the time. If Emilie didn't mind, of course. And after he'd saved up to buy a bow and set of arrows.

One evening before bed, Gaston took time to truly look through that box of old things from his Villeneuve house again. He didn't want to face it, to be honest. He knew that Lefou had personally went through the things, and he had decided what Gaston would want as the only remains of his pre-cursed life. Sure enough, Gaston found his red and gold military uniform. One button was missing from the coat. He found his medals- all seven of them. His forms of release from active duty.

And after digging into the bottom of the box, Gaston found a bunch of childish wax medallions covered in chipped old paint. A long-ago memory surfaced- Lefou had made them for Gaston when they were children. They were prizes that Lefou gave him whenever Gaston would hit a bullseye on his slingshot or bow as they played together in the forest.

A bittersweet pain struck his heart as he handled those simple objects. One little boy, out of the kindness of his heart and pride for his best friend, taking time to make and give his own gifts of affection. _Lefou put these in the box on purpose,_ Gaston thought sadly. Perhaps he'd only meant for him to never forget his old friend- to still recall the innocent days of long ago.

On his day off, after over three weeks on the new job, he packed up his work carriage and headed out to the Marquis Antoine's estate to pick up Emilie and coax her to come with him into the city. He was going to 'steal' her for a week- whether or not her boss wanted her to go or not.

She was going to be his wife by tonight. He'd already located the church and the priest.

The mansion was rather depressing to look at once he'd arrived at its gates. He could still be here, as the head of household working with Emilie, Jean, Clémence, Adelaide, Madame Chambon and the rest of the servants. The Marquis didn't want him anymore. It was simply a fact he had to face.

He walked up the familiar, short flight of brick stairs and knocked on the large oak-wood door, hoping that he would not have to face Marquis Antoine or his wife or daughter. It was strange and surreal, being in the setting of his old false life now that he was seeing it as his true self. He felt like a stranger, an intruder. He didn't belong.

After his fourth knock, he heard the latch click and open. Emilie answered the door, to his absolute relief and joy.

"Gaston-Luc!" She was wearing her old grey dress, apron and maid's cap, but looked just as adorable to him as if she were dressed in her very best. She stepped forward and they shared a brief hug and sweet kiss.

"Emilie! This is the day of your dreams, _chérie!_ I'm taking you away to elope with me in the city. Has he given you permission?"

"Yes...he has," Emilie said, beaming. "He hasn't fired me, but he's made it clear that I can leave whenever I wish, to move in with you. But it's hard to find the exact time. I want to earn a little more, unless I can find a situation in the city. Perhaps a nanny for children. Adelaide thought that would be a good idea-"

"Don't worry about money or a job or such complicated things! I've landed a job. And an apartment, a horse and a carriage! Pack up your bags and come with _me!_ " He grinned at her, hoping to get her in an adventurous mood.

"His Honor and Evangeline are away. Her Ladyship Marie-Juliette is here. Can you come in for just a minute?" Emilie asked, suddenly shy.

His smile faded. "I'd rather wait out here."

"Well...all right. Let me tell Her Ladyship and Adelaide that I'm going. You _do_ know that Addie plans to come with us, to be a witness to the...wedding." Gaston caught a blush in her cheeks at the word.

"Of course. She's welcome. But she'll have to find her _own_ hotel room, of course. I want us to be _alone._ " He caught her lip trembling a bit at his words.

"She knows that," Emilie said, assuming her prim and proper voice. "She's been waiting for you just as eagerly as I have. Once she gets a lift into the city, she plans to go off on her own and visit Jean's parents." Emilie looked down self-consciously at her work dress. "Shall I change into something nicer?"

"No need. It's up to you. It doesn't matter to me what you're wearing on the trip. If Adelaide's the only witness, there's no need for finery. _Besides_ -" his eyebrows raised in playful flirtation- "what matters to me is what you _won't_ be wearing at midnight," he added in a whisper.

" _Gaston-Luc!_ " she said in mock horror, but her face was bright red and shining, contradicting her words. Her long braid of hair fell over one shoulder, and Gaston wanted so badly to undo that braid himself.

"That _is_ my name," he replied.

She broke into a shy smile, lowering her gaze. "And I'll be _taking_ part of your name...I'll be 'Madame Legume' very soon...I like it."

" _Good."_ Gaston's confident smile returned as Emilie shut the door. He waited, wiping his brow in the late summer heat while he stood at the doorstep. If all goes well, Emilie would be in his arms tonight after sunset, as his new bride.

...

Five hours later, early in the evening, Gaston and Emilie stood before a priest named Pere Jean-Paul, in an empty, formal, incense-scented church sanctuary at the corner of _Rue des Sauterelles_ and _Seconde,_ before a fine cherub-festooned altar.

He and Emilie had filled out three forms to turn into the officiant, their fingers still stained with ink and both eager to get on with things. Thanks to Belle and Lefou, Gaston had brought the original copy of his own birth certificate from Villeneuve- one of the items Lefou had saved when he took care of Gaston's childhood home.

Emilie had broke away from Gaston long enough that afternoon to duck into a water closet at the hotel and change into the dress she had packed- the same yellow and white dress she'd worn to Prince Adam's ruined birthday party. Gaston wore his only decent grey suit with a black tie.

Adelaide, sister and witness, stood along with them in her blue flower-print dress, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. _Happy tears,_ she'd assured them both.

The priest spoke his prayers and sacraments and blessings over the couple. " _Gaston-Luc and Emilie Madeleine, I pronounce you husband and wife."_

Emilie's hair was still bound up in a braid; she'd taken the braid and twisted it up into a little bun. Adelaide had pinned yellow fabric flowers into the bun just before the nuptials. Her sister had insisted on the tiniest bit of blush and lip color, and her face shone with joy.

She raised her arms to grasp his tall shoulders and hold him close, standing on her tiptoes to receive her first kiss as Madame Gaston-Luc Legume. Wife of a humble carriage cab driver, and the happiest woman in the city.

...


	30. Newlyweds, and Epilogue

Chapter 30- Newlyweds, and Epilogue

…

Emilie couldn't contain her joy as she and her new husband walked out of the church and into the street. They paused at the bottom step in view of passersby, turned to one another, and kissed deeply in front of a half-dozen strangers.

"They were just married!" Adelaide said excitedly as she looked on. A few Parisian citizens smiled and clapped at the sight of the happy couple, celebrating a brand-new stage in their lives.

After the embrace and kiss, Gaston and Emilie joined arms and walked to the brand new hotel that he'd helped build with his own hands- the property owned by Marquis Antoine. The nobleman had given Adelaide and Emilie some money to stay in two separate rooms for two nights- Emilie with Gaston, and Adelaide all by herself, which she was beyond excited about.

"I heard that they have room service!" Addie told them as she tagged along next to the newlyweds as they held hands. "His Honor said you just ring a little bell on your door, and they deliver you breakfast! I'm going to feel like royalty for once! At least, just for two days!"

"Only the best for my bride," Gaston said, giving Emilie's small hand a squeeze. They neared the newly built, tall building on the busy street corner. "You deserve it."

"It does sound like fun," Emilie said in a quiet voice, feeling a bit shy and nervous again.

The thought that she was now a married woman hadn't sunk into her mind and heart quite yet. She was certainly old enough now, nearing twenty-three, to have the maturity needed to be a man's wife. She was young enough to have not been labeled 'spinster.' Emilie was eleven years Gaston's junior, something that bothered her at first- _what if he grows old and dies ten years before me someday?-_ but she knew that his health and vigor would serve him well for a long time. That 'vigor' was also something that made her nervous- regarding what he had planned for the hours ahead.

He caught her eye, sensing her nerves and jitters, and wrapped his arm around her close, giving her a feeling of assurance and protection.

"Do you see that east wall? I remember laying it out myself, brick by brick. With Jean's handiwork too, of course!" Gaston pointed out as they came up to the building, now completed only five or so months since. "Jean said that it was supposed to be completed around Christmas of last year, but I caught that wretched _smallpox_ , you know. And then, he and I went off the crew to go work on the Marquis' house. The hotel wasn't finished until March- three months late! It was because of Jean and I not _being_ there."

"It's beautiful here," said Emilie, as they opened the great front door. "You and Jean did a great job," she added, always knowing that he loved praise and words of affirmation for his efforts, past and present.

They entered the lobby, which reminded Emilie of a small version of Adam and Belle's castle- a foyer with an elegant curved staircase, a party and dining hall off to one side. Like the castle, it was busy, bustling with people. Instead of servants, it was swarming with doormen, desk clerks, baggage carriers, and many customers- mainly those of wealth and prestige.

Gaston, Emilie, and Adelaide were dressed in their best clothes and hoped to not give themselves away as mere servants and working class. Emilie and Adelaide spoke quietly, trying to walk in slow, poised, tiptoeing steps, the way Evangeline and Marie-Juliette always walked when entering a building or a public arena.

" _Monsieur et Mesdames!"_ a man's voice called out in the lobby. They ignored it at first, but then he called to the ladies by name.

"Adelaide and Emilie!"

They turned to see someone very familiar. The middle-aged man dressed as one of the hotel employees- with their matching black vests and culottes- was none other than Aloysius Guérisseur.

"Aloysius?" Gaston exclaimed in shock. "What are _you_ doing here?" He tried hard to hide his scowl. As much as he'd liked Aloysius when he'd been a servant at the estate, he'd had quite enough with 'Enchanted' folk to last the rest of his life. Why was he working at the hotel, and not washing dishes in the Marquis' kitchens?

" _Aloysius!_ " cried Adelaide excitedly, losing all of her ladylike decorum she'd been trying to assume for the last few moments. She rushed to the man and give him a warm embrace. "I was waiting for you!"

"Welcome!" the man replied after hugging the grateful young woman back. "I heard congratulations are in order," he said warmly, keeping his attention on the two women at first. When he locked eyes with Gaston, his demeanor turned apologetic. " _Toutes nos félicitations,_ Monsieur Lu- I mean, Gaston!" he faltered.

Gaston could not hide his frown any longer. "Were _you_ in on it?" he accused.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Gaston glanced over to see if anyone in the crowd was paying attention to the four of them; they were not. "The curse. And _breaking_ the curse!" he said in a low whisper. "I hope she _never_ leaves her prison, by the way. Tell her she's lucky she didn't destroy my life. She _could_ have, you know."

Aloysius gave Gaston a kind but apologetic look. "That's what I wanted to speak to you about, if I can do so privately. Let me show you to your rooms. I work here now. Adelaide, may I carry the luggage?"

The secretive sorcerer bent down to pick up the two carpetbags from the lobby floor, leading the three of them to the ornately carved dark-walnut desk. It was attended by a young man wearing a fake silver wig on his head, a stack of papers before him.

"Next," the clerk announced.

"Let's get you all checked in," said Aloysius cheerfully.

The four of them went to the wigged man and gave him the money that the Marquis had gifted the sisters with; a very extravagant and generous amount. The clerk handed two keys to Gaston and Aloysius respectively, as if he either thought that women had no ability to open doors with keys, or assumed that they were two married couples. They walked towards the staircase landing.

"309. The third floor. We'll get a view," Gaston noted, looking at his key. "Now, Aloysius- as much as I'm fond of you, I want an explanation on your part. The last I've heard from you was when you were-" he lowered his voice again- "a disembodied floating head in Prince Adam's library! Which I didn't _see_ , but I _heard_ enough of it. Emilie saw it up close, and I'm relieved that she didn't die of fright from it."

"I want to have a short talk with you about all of that, Monsieur Gaston. Regarding Agathe, mainly."

"Good. Because I want answers." His eyes narrowed with a hint of threat.

Emilie gently touched his arm. The sorcerer was unfazed by Gaston's firm stance, and retained his friendly air.

"Only briefly, so you can go enjoy your honeymoon." he replied, then turned to the still-unmarried sister. "Adelaide, you can spend the evening with _me_ if you'd like-"

" _What_? Wait- _whoa!_ " Gaston interjected, putting a strong arm between the middle aged man's shoulder and Adelaide, separating them. "Addie, is there something going on between you and him that you've neglected to _tell_ me about? Isn't he a little _old_ for you?"

"Gaston-Luc!" Adelaide chided, appalled. "What are you talking about? He's a friend. We're going to have dinner together and talk for awhile. As _friends._ What's wrong with that?"

"But I _thought_ you were still in love with Marcel. Remember him? The warlock who's actually your _own_ age?"

Adelaide's eyes began to tear up.

" _I am!_ " she said in sudden distress. "And that's why...I'm going with Monsieur Aloysius tonight, because he has a lot to tell me about Marcel and Agathe. Where their prison is. Which is down underground, beneath the city. I can't go there because I'm _Sans-Magie_ , but Aloysius has a _plan!_ And I...might not be back home Monday. In fact, Emilie, I...I think I'm pretty certain that I won't be back for...a long time." Her expression and mood seemed to change so suddenly, from cheerful to worried.

"What?" Emilie said in shock.

"I'm going off on my own. But _he_ will watch over me," she insisted, gesturing to Aloysius.

Emilie knew something had been up with her sister for the last few weeks. When Emilie had returned home, she'd found Adelaide still depressed about having lost touch with Marcel, possibly forever. But very recently, she'd started spending an excessive amount of time in a chummy manner with Aloysius, when he was still the household's dishwasher. He'd only recently switched to working in the hotel.

"I'm so sorry. I love you, Emilie, and I respect Their Honors. But I made up my mind. I might go stay at Maman and Papa's for a few days. Not long, though," Adelaide declared, her little round chin set in determination.

"Where else will you be staying?" Gaston asked.

"Here...with Aloysius. He has an extra room, a very nice place. And I can help out in the hotel. Plenty of maid duties. Cleaning. But we-" she turned to Aloysius nervously- "we have other plans we need to work on."

"Let me get this straight. You're staying _alone_ with this man?" Gaston asked in exasperation.

"I have an extra room, Monsieur," said Aloysius. "My intentions are nothing but that of a friendly companion. She wants to help me, and I need to be seen in public with a companion, especially a lady, who isn't someone of...certain powers."

"Is this something to do with all you Magical people, and your infighting?" Gaston asked. "Adelaide, you should go home and forget about this. _Don't_ get mixed up in this sorcery nonsense. You'll never _be_ one."

He glared at the man by her side. He knew that the older man's intentions with the girl were more that of a mentor, or fatherly role rather than romantic, but that did not mean no harm could befall her.

Adelaide and Aloysius both put their fingers to their lips to 'shush' Gaston, which irritated him. " _Don't shush me!_ " he whispered fiercely.

"Gaston, please don't be angry. I think she'll be all right," Emilie said, trying to calm her husband. "Let's just go up to our room, okay?"

She touched Gaston's shoulder lovingly, running her index finger up to his chin and cheek- a flirty gesture that she was still shy about doing. 'Flirty' was never a word that described Emilie Fortier. But he was her husband now. She was Madame Emilie Legume, his other half, free to express affection.

 _He's my husband._ Her knees felt weak for a moment, a shudder of nervous energy went through her.

"Gaston-Luc," she whispered, giving him the most loving gaze she could, standing up on her tiptoes as if to give him a kiss.

His scowl transformed into an eager, bright smile. "Emilie... _yes._ Let's go upstairs." He took her offer of the kiss, leading to a passionate embrace while Aloysius and Adelaide looked on.

"So romantic," Addie whispered to him.

The four of them walked up to the third floor hallway together, where Gaston and Emilie's honeymoon suite door, 309, was found.

"Well, then," said Gaston to the other two, holding the room key up. "Now...this is where we part ways."

"Oh, just a moment!" Adelaide took her own travel bag from Aloysius. She opened it and pulled out a pink stationery envelope with her handwriting, addressed to Marquis Antoine and Marquess Marie-Juliette.

"Emilie, before I leave you, please give this to His Honor. It's my letter of resignation. I promise to visit Maman and Papa. Don't worry about me. Aloysius is going to watch over me just fine!" She took the man's arm and gazed at him admiringly. " _Merci_ for your help."

"You're very welcome," the sorcerer replied.

"Now- _wait_ a minute," Gaston said firmly, dropping his hand with the key dangling from it. "I'll ask you again, because I'm your family now, Addie dear. Are you _sure_ you've thought this through? Are you sure you want to associate with, you know- _his_ kind of people? Aloysius- where's your magic wand and secret potions and all that sort of stuff? Tucked inside your sleeve?"

"I may or may not have them. As you can see, I have not been using them," he said in a calm and matter of fact tone. "I don't wish to use any of it in public, and I ask again that you _please_ keep your voice down about such things."

"Evil Enchanters are everywhere- Oh! I'm sorry, I should keep my mouth shut too, Aloysius, I'm _sorry_!" Adelaide said, looking down the staircase and hallway in a paranoid manner.

"Gaston, _mon cher,_ let's take our key and let all of us in our room, so we can talk," said Emilie.

"But Emilie," he argued, "I'd always imagined picking you up and carrying you through the threshold- _alone_."

"You still can!" she laughed fondly.

Gaston scowled in frustration, truly hoping that the insufferable warlock, _and_ his own sister in law, would take the hint and leave, so he and Emilie could be finally alone.

"Mademoiselle- I mean _Madame_ , and Monsieur Gaston-Luc," Aloysius said, "It doesn't matter if we are in a confined room or in the hallway. If _certain_ ears want to hear our conversation, they will hear. It's no use. I've put some protective charms on your speech already, Adelaide."

"You mean no one can _hear_ me? But- I can hear myself," Adelaide said sheepishly.

Aloysius sighed in impatience. "Just trust me, dear."

He turned to Gaston and his tone went serious. "We will both be leaving, you'll be glad to know. I only wanted to let you know one thing. _She_...and you know who I mean by 'she'- did not mean you any harm. She never, _ever_ planned for it to break."

"Is that so?" said Gaston skeptically.

"She _never_ planned for you to return to that castle. It was an unfortunate coincidence, due to the Marquis' ties to Prince Louis and Prince Adam. Please don't hold her at fault."

"You're telling the truth?" He thought it over for a moment. When Agathe was in her old-aunt persona, she had truly seemed to care for him. It would have been all an act if she didn't- an extended act that lasted a whole year. She may have been a witch, but she seemed human enough, hadn't she?

The sorcerer nodded. "Please believe me, Monsieur. She even tried to get Marcel Clement to whisk you off to another place in his carriage, once she learned you were going to Prince Adam's. Of course he didn't obey her. He wasn't exactly her best ally. He'd been working for- that _other_ man."

Adelaide glanced nervously around the empty hallway, as if she were expecting the boogie-man to pop into the quiet hall.

"Is that so?" Gaston's face brightened. "I was the subject of controversy and intrigue among you warlocks?" He gave a little amused laugh. "I must be important in _both_ worlds."

"Not important. You were a victim," said Aloysius.

" _What_? I was no victim!" Gaston exclaimed, outraged.

Emilie gave her offended husband an look of gentle reproach. Back when he'd been in the dungeon at that hearing, she recalled his rants about being the 'victim' of Agathe's curses. So now he changed his mind?

Aloysius sighed. "Yes, Gaston-Luc. You were. Just like Prince Adam, you were the victim of her power trips and pride. She meant well, but as always, she went about it the wrong way. I've had to deal with her for years. She's family. But- she _did_ grow to care about you. She started thinking of you as almost a son, and she used to weep for you," A sad look came over the man's face. "She wasn't an evil person."

"Doesn't matter now. I'll never see that woman again," Gaston said, swallowing an unexpected lump in his throat. "If _you_ ever see her again, tell her thank you. It was all worth it in the end." He wrapped his arm around Emilie. "She helped me. So I'll tell you again, I was no victim!"

"I'm glad you feel that way," said Aloysius. "She's paying her dues for what she did, this very moment. And so is Monsieur Clement, for his own misuse of magic in that castle." He glanced at Adelaide, who nodded sadly. "As for me personally, I'm keeping a low profile, but I fear that I'm the next to go."

Adelaide nodded again, her eyes growing tearful. Emilie stepped forward to hug her sister.

"I'll see you later," Addie said.

"Where is Lorette?" Emilie asked, noticing that she was without her constant furry companion. "She was with us in the carriage, and then you took her somewhere before we went to the chapel. Are you keeping an eye on her?"

"She's in Aloysius' room. She's fine. Catching mice there," Adelaide replied.

"So you and Aloysius planned ahead of time to meet here at the hotel, _and_ move the cat here?" Gaston said.

"Addie...I agree with Gaston," Emilie said in warning. "I also think you should go home on Monday, and _stay_ there. Don't quit. This sounds so dangerous. I know you want to find Marcel someday. I know you liked him a lot, and you want to help, but all this- you cannot understand-"

"I'll be _fine_!" Adelaide assured her sister. "Monsieur Aloysius is a brilliant and powerful man. Not just...his 'medicines' but other things. After all, he's _her_ cousin. It's in their blood-"

In an almost parental way, the Enchanter put his finger on Adelaide's lips to shush her. " _Shh_ , let's go have some dinner. There is a restaurant downstairs. Let's let the newlyweds be," he urged her.

Adelaide nodded, and took his arm to walk downstairs. "Have a wonderful and passionate honeymoon," she said cheerily.

"They're finally gone," Gaston said, his face turning scarlet.

"I hope she'll be all right."

Gaston raised his own index finger and put it over her lips. "Shh, _ma cherie._ She's in good hands. He healed us both, remember? The kiss of true love?"

"Of course I do."

"I want to carry you over the threshold now."

"All right," she agreed with a nervous laugh.

He put one arm around Emilie's shoulders, and with the other, he scooped her up under her knees. He lifted her, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

With quick fingers, he jammed the key in door 309, turned it, and it fell open. He carried his bride to a small, elegantly furnished guest room with one tall window covered with a dark red curtain. A little beam of early evening sunlight dappled over the comfortable double bed, adorned with a burgundy and gold satin quilt. The place was perfect.

He lowered her to the bed and hovered over her body, one knee on the mattress, the other on the floor, his lips lowering and claiming hers. He undid her hair tie and unbraided her hair so that it fell free, spreading over the soft pillow.

"My love, and my bride," he whispered, breaking the kiss for only a moment, then diving in again for what seemed like hours.

He held her close, kissed her, touched her, easing her through the initial stages of physical affection and love. From her lips, to her neck, to her dress bodice, he allowed her to feel comfortable and secure, paying the utmost attention to her words, her responses, her breathing. This was a first for him, as well.

The loving husband broke through his wife's shyness and modesty, little by little, layer by layer. Their fingers trembled as they cast away fabric and caressed each other's skin.

Dusk was falling over the little room by now. It was dim, warm beneath their cozy quilt, and quiet by the time his bride was ready, her fingers kneading his shoulder, kissing his skin with newfound boldness.

"I love you...I love you so much," she whispered.

"Are you okay? Truly okay?"

"I am. I'm fine...please," she said with a joyful sigh.

The moment when he could finally unleash his passion- and hers- came at long last.

...

 _Epilogue_

Gaston and Emilie Legume began their married life in their modest little Paris apartment, short on money, but big on love. For six months, Gaston worked driving carriages in the streets. One day, however, he came upon an incident where an impoverished old woman was being attacked by robbers.

Though a policeman was present- mostly ignoring the poor street woman- Gaston himself charged forward and took matters into his own hands. He grabbed one man in a chokehold, wielding a horse whip. The police chief arrived on his steed, and when he saw the stranger in action as the other officers stood idle, not caring for the victim, he was impressed with Gaston's willingness to take charge. He seemed to care for even the most lowly in the city. His efforts were praised as heroism.

Within a year, Gaston had taken training and had become a patrol officer for the police. Not a lofty or lucrative career, but one that made him proud.

Within two years of their marriage, they moved into a slightly larger home, hoping to soon fill it with children. _'Six or seven! At least three of them are to be strapping sons._ ' Gaston proudly teased his wife.

However, to Gaston and Emilie's despair, they were unable to conceive a child.

Three, four, then five years went by. The couple sought out common doctors, even Enchanted healers such as Aloysius- for anything that might bring hope of their dream of a large family. But even Enchanted magic and potions had their limits. Emilie's womb and the little extra bedroom remained empty. The couple blamed the smallpox both had suffered in the past.

One day, when Gaston and Emilie had been married for over five years, they were approached by a man they had come to know as a friend. He brought to their home a pair of orphans- a boy and a girl. The man was the bearer of tragic news- these little ones had just lost both parents so suddenly.

They grieved the loss of the parents of the two beautiful children, and they welcomed the baby boy, and toddler girl, with love. It was a bittersweet blessing and a trying time. Though the children, named Eugene and Arielle, were not his by blood, Gaston came a very proud Papa, raising his family with Emilie by his side.

…

 _A.N **.** \- Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I've had such a fun journey with this story over the last year! As always, I'm sad to bring another story to a close._

 _For those who were asking about Agathe, Marcel and Adelaide, I'm starting on another story focusing just on them. It will describe the adventures Adelaide joins in on, more detail about Marcel and Agathe in their magical prison, Sauvageon the wicked officer, and a brand new character I named 'LeLoup.'_

 _'Le Monde des Sorciers,' French for 'The Sorcerers' World' is the title of the new story, a historical fantasy/romance. The first chapter should be posted soon!_


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